Like Lightning
by mintteas
Summary: Blake Asher is struck by lightning and finds herself in a bit of a rut - namely, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Why not wave a wand and cause a bit of mischief while you're stuck in such a crazy world? We know she did. DM/OC. T for language.
1. Struck

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Kyle rolled his bright blue eyes pointedly. "Who in their right mind would start with Time to Break Up? That's, like, I don't know. Sacrilege, or something!"

_Sacrilege_? Big word for someone with so tiny a brain as Kyle Jameson. The boy was really trying to snap my last nerve. I took a deep breath, and tried to even my voice out as much as possible.

"It's Blink-182. It's classic. And it's sharp, so it'll get everyone up-"

"So will Sex on Fire." He retorted, without kindly waiting for me to finish my sentence. It was my turn to roll my eyes, albeit the fact that he'd already called that trademark.

"You only want to do it first because it has the word '_sex_' in it!"

"That may be the case," He frowned, and I scoffed. "But it's the better option. Better than Time to Break Up!" He added angrily as I shook my head, so ready to protest.

"You're so pigheaded!" I shot back. "All you ever consider is what you think, your opinion, and never anyone else's ideas. Well, guess what, Kyle - you're not all that high and mighty, so just step off!"

"Oh, yeah, hark who's talking, Blake!" He argued. "I've never met a girl with as much mouth attitude as you. Why don't you just can it, because you're not the star of the show anyway!"

"Oh, then I suppose _you_ are?" I suddenly stood from my place on the couch, the notepad on my lap sliding off and hitting the floor. Brian Kane, owner of the household, current practice space and position of lead guitar, picked it up and brushed the dirt off the page.

"Hey, guys, why can't we do Lost in Stereo? It's sharp, like Blake wants it, and I'm pretty sure it it has the word 'sex' in it, too."

"Yeah, I'm cool with Lost in Stereo." Zack Hale, nonchalant drummer, piped in helpfully. I raised a hand to silence them both.

"No. I want to hear it." I spat. "So, you think you're so great and perfect, Kyle? That you're a superstar?"

"I never said that!" He replied, outraged.

"Sure as hell sounded like it. When are you going to grow up, huh? We're in a band, in case you haven't noticed. You can't expect everything to be about you."

"You know what _I _don't get?" He hissed. "Why is it that you are such an ass-bitten hypocrite, Blake?"

Oh, he was asking for it. Really asking for it.

I stood up, my fingers balled and practically airborne. Some part of me relished the fact that it was an unwritten law for men not to hit girls unless they asked for it. But Zack halted my fist, and everything zoomed into chaos mode.

"Fuck you, Kyle!" I yelled, as Zack hauled my kicking and struggling body away from the vocalist-slash-bassist I'd nearly mauled.

"No, fuck you and your self-righteousness, Blake!" Kyle shot back in equal decibels as Brian stepped in front of him, creating a thin human barrier between me and my present prey.

"Guys, relax! Blake, chill out!" He added to me, when I tried to take a swipe at Kyle and consequently scratched Brian's ear.

"Blake! Fucking cool it!" Zack roared, having taken the most out of the pain party - he was having difficulty trying to set me down on solid ground.

"Hey! What's going on?" Katie, Brian's older sister, came in from the back door leading from the kitchen to the garage. "Bri, mom is freaked out, she said it sounded like someone got hurt."

"I wish." I muttered under my breath.

"No, it's cool, Kate, got it all under control." Brian replied quickly, trying to cover - up his scarlet-red ear. Katie looked skeptical, but shrugged and retreated back into the house, muttering something about how she never understood musicians and their mood swings.

"Blake-" Zack started, but I shrugged his hold off.

"Forget it." I snapped, snatching my notepad from Brian's loose grip. I swung my pack over my shoulder, stuffing the pad into the tiny front pocket. "I'm outta here."

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" Brian asked desperately, holding out his arms in an attempt to stop me.

"Home. Call me when you grow some balls." I began to storm out of Brian's garage, despite the protests coming from Zack's and Brian's mouths.

"Fine!" Kyle made a last attempt to have the annoying final word. "Who needs a rhythm guitar anyway? Can you spell 'useless'?"

"Kyle..." Zack warned, shooting him a worried look.

"Why, can't you?" I shouted over my shoulder. For good measure, I raised a middle finger, like a little salute. I thought I heard his teeth grit together. Pushing the screen door open, I exited into the dark street.

It was pouring. Odd, because we hadn't seen a single storm cloud since the month before. Everything was just sunny - rather scorching on most days, actually. But now it was as if the world was pouring all the water it had in reserve over West Palm Beach, Florida. It crossed my mind once that I should go back inside and beg for forgiveness and shelter, but my pride got the best of me, and I decided it wouldn't be too bad anyway to just walk. So I began to trudge home, despite the strange and unrelenting weather.

I was plagued with angry thoughts on the walk back. The fact that I was sodden and disgracefully resembling a drowned cat did not improve my mood.

Stupid Kyle. Why did he always have to be such a resident douche? For once, I would have liked him to have kept his gaping mouth shut. True, he was an excellent singer, I could give him that. But, really, what crawled up his ass and died? Was I so inadequate and unimportant in the band that I couldn't suggest one stupid opening song without getting completely and rudely blown off? The last time I checked, Chuck Norris was still the king of the world.

Besides, what was so wrong with my idea? It was a good song - pretty _damn_ good, really. Just because he didn't jerk off to it didn't mean it was a completely fucked up suggestion.

I pushed my wet hair away from my face, annoyed. What a pro-wanker.

Everything was coming down in tiny bullets now. The water splattering on my skin was getting slightly painful, and the sky was lighting up with far-off cracks of lightning, followed by thunder that increased in volume each time it rang.

And _useless_? How was I useless? If we were having some unofficial contest about whose instrument was better than whose, mine would win by default. Basses are completely out of the question. I can hardly hear it, even without his whiny voice getting in the way.

Stupid Kyle. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The sky lit up again, a blinding purple for a second. It was closely followed by that inevitable boom that pounded upon my ears. The rain began to fall like the Niagra, and I found the need to run, my feet splashing into large puddles on the sidewalk. My guitar bag slammed against my back, making my ass hurt like crazy. Worst of all, my phone started vibrating in my jeans pocket, playing Owl City's "Hello Seattle" like it wanted to compete with the damn storm.

Fucking perfect. Whoever that was would just have to wait until I got home to return their call. No way was I taking out my mobile in this downpour.

Oh, God. I was completely screwed. To be honest, I wasn't even that sure I'd entered the right alleyway going home.

Owl City's voice began singing again. Couldn't this person just give up?

I thought about going back. It wasn't too late to turn around and score a hot cup of chocolate from Mrs. Kane. Screw Kyle, I could ignore his ego, no matter how blown up it was.

The wind howled around me, whipping the damp, sorry piece of fabric around my torso. Okay, that was it. I was going back. That much was settled. It no longer mattered to me what Kyle would say, or what he wouldn't, or how much of a douche he was going to be. All this trouble in the rain just wasn't worth it, really.

I spun on my sodden heel, shaking my head. What an awful way to end the day. Indignantly leaving someone's house, then coming back for shelter. What a loser I was.

Considering I could even find it, at this point in time.

"Oh, Blake," I sighed to myself, displeased with the turn of events. "What a mess you're in, huh?" I could hardly hear myself talking _to_ myself, another clap of thunder deafening me for probably the rest of my natural life.

And then it came down, like the strike of a cobra. That thick, crooked line of light detached itself from the sky and collided with the pavement, the lightning making an earthquake-worthy sound as it licked the road not four feet away from my toes.

"Holy _shit_!" I shrieked, beside myself. What the fuck was that all about? Rarely did lightning ever make its way out of the sky to attack the poor soil we stood on. At least, rarely according to my limited knowledge.

That was shitting scary. It was difficult to tell, what with the rain and all, but I was pretty sure I just peed my pants. Not that it mattered, at this point in time.

I began to run, not even bothering to consider I was making myself more and more lost as the seconds flew by. All I knew was that I couldn't be caught out in this hellish typhoon.

I arrived at a fork in the road, and skidded to a halt. But my estimation was wrong, and my feet carried me farther than I would have liked - I slid on the relatively smooth surface of road, landing squarely and painfully on my ass.

In the moment that I sat, rooted to the road, the pitch-black sky brightened up again. A single second was enough to guarantee the end of my life. The second line of lightning descended upon the atmosphere, breaking into the heavy air and touching the pavement again. And this time, I don't think it missed anymore.

Honestly, it was the most peculiar feeling ever. It was that feeling, like I'd plugged my finger into a socket deludedly and got that tingling shock - except this time, it was multiplied by around five thousand. My blood was vibrating in my veins, pulsing like crazy energy through my entire nervous system. Every part of me was awake, alive - and very, very, warm. The white light never left my eyes, and my vision revolved around a platinum world where everything was highlighted in this freakish silver glow. Everything was bright, and blinding, and immaculately white.

That was, until I blacked out, anyway.

* * *

Oh, death. What a weird concept. It was so difficult to think about, to consider. When you're dead, you don't feel anything, and you have no knowledge as to your place and time, your emotions and experiences. This is because, well, you're just... dead. Right?

So why the fuck was I thinking like this?

Oh, yeah, that lightning thing. Having a dose of that surely would have left me dead and fried to an ugly crisp. And whoever would have found my body would _probably_ freak out, call 911, then have a heart attack. It was just so spot on, the lightning - hitting me at the best time, the best place, not to mention the _best_ angle. Really. Your aim never fails, universe. So I'm dead. Absolutely, totally dead.

What the fuck. No I'm not. I'm talking to myself. Jesus God, I'm insane.

There were voices. Weird, gurgle-like voices that sounded like I was a fish trapped inside an aquarium, listening to my owners talk about how they're going to flush me down the toilet. I couldn't understand what they were saying. Honestly, I didn't care. Please just take me to a hospital.

But nothing moved me. This was rather irritating. Hello, I'm sort of like dying here. Just, you know. For your information.

Or maybe I was dead. And these were the judges, trying to decide whether or not I should go to Heaven or Hell, or some special cage they made for sarcastic, indignant people like me, who have no right to place themselves in the world.

Wherever it was, I hoped they served burgers. Damn, I was ravenous.

The voices grew a bit clearer. They were saying something like, "... Muggle-born, by the way she dresses..."

Which, of course, made absolutely no sense.

I ventured in, trying to open my eyes - one, first, the left. The light above me was so blinding, though, that I closed it an instant after. But that was enough to signify that I was alive, to both myself and to my unknown spectators.

"Oh, she's awake!"

Female. Accent. Really British, by the sound of it. Imagine, getting picked up by a bunch of crazy-ass British people. Really perfect, once you looked at it.

Oh, this was so useless. I opened my eyes, trying to fight the urge to just ball up and cower against the bright light. Three blobs - sorry, heads, were bobbing above me, incredibly close to my face. Hello, personal space?

My head was pounding like crazy. I hoped they had aspirin, or something.

"Hello," the female voice spoke again, her tone really slow. "What's your name?"

"Uh. Blake Asher." I replied, frowning.

"Hello, Blake. How did you get here?" Her voice was still steady and dragging, like she was talking to some inattentive three-year-old. Jesus, that was annoying.

My vision refocused. The girl talking to me was a young, wild-haired brunette, an expectant, confused expression on her face. I scowled.

"I got shot by lightning. And you don't have to talk to me that way, I'm not retarded." I snapped. She looked taken aback. Not the best first impression I could give someone - but given the fact that I was lost and possibly resurrected, I think maybe it was okay to let my attitude slide. "And you are?"

The girl looked at her two companions, then cleared her throat. "Well, I'm - I'm Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you."

* * *

A.N.: well, I decided to give this a go. First time I've tried making the standard, slightly cliche "time travel" fanfic, so, naturally, I'm not too sure how well this will turn out. If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to drop it in the review box.

Anyway, we'll see how this ends up together! XD

Hoping to hear from you! :)


	2. Arrival

"You have a very unique accent."

Wow. How did that not come out of my mouth? I gaped at this girl, this Hermione Granger, incredulously. The expression on her face remained painfully polite. It was pretty unnerving.

"What accent?" I wondered, confused.

"Er, well. You're not from around here, are you?"

I looked around - everything beside me was a block of yellow-green reeds and mud with shallow puddles. "Define, '_around here_'."

"You're in London right now, actually."

_What_? How the flying fuck did I get from West Palm Beach to freaking Europe? "No, no way. There must be some sort of mistake. Or you're all crazy."

"Crazy, she says." I turned to the source of the comical (British) male voice. Atop his head was a shining mass of red, and across his nose was a splash of faint freckles. His eyes were a deep blue, and very wide. "Well, we didn't find ourselves lying in the mud on a field, now, did we?"

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione Granger commanded her blurry companion bossily. "Can't you see she's disoriented? You're aggravating her!"

"Yes, no aggravation. Please." I cut in helpfully.

"Okay, Blake. Where are you from?" This time, the friend to my right interrogated me. I turned to his bright green eyes, frowning. A mess of jet black hair stuck up from his scalp. I took him more seriously, though, because his voice was a little more post-puberty than carrot-top.

"West Palm Beach." I answered crossly. "Florida."

"Where on earth is that?" Carrot-Top Ron asked no one on particular. I saw Hermione Granger shrug. "Harry?"

Post-Puberty Boy answered. "If Hermione doesn't know, how should I?"

"Well, I might've thought it was a muggle thing..."

That word again. Muggle. What the hell did that even mean? But before I could inquire, Hermione spoke to me again.

"How did you arrive here, Blake?"

"I told you already," I replied impatiently. "I was walking home, in the middle of a storm, and I got hit by lightning. Is anyone going to help me up, or are you all just going to stare at me like I'm some extraterrestrial?"

They seemed to realize it was rather awkward to have a question and answer with someone back-flat on soil. Sheepishly, the black-haired boy helped me up, and I dusted the dirt off my jeans.

"Got hit by lightning?" Hermione pondered on this curiously. "But - I'm sorry, that's virtually impossible."

"Yes, exactly." I frowned again. "Thanks for the output, genius."

Hermione Granger blushed a scarlet red shade. "Well - but that's - there must be another reason, right? If you'd been hit by lightning, you'd be..."

"Dead." I concluded for her in a flat sort of tone. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

"There must be some reason you'd wound up out here. I mean... D'you remember where you were headed?"

"Uh. Home. I guess." I shrugged.

"But-" Hermione began, but her sentence failed her as a loud tolling came from a distant bell. The three looked up, then checked their watches hurriedly.

"Oh, no, we'll be late!" Hermione squealed rather suddenly.

"What do you suppose we do about her?" Carrot-Top jerked a thumb at me. I exhaled haughtily.

"I'm right here." I mumbled, though they ignored me.

"We should take her to McGonagall - no, Dumbledore. He'd probably know what to do, wouldn't he?" The black-haired boy suggested. McGonagall? _Dumbledore_? What kind of weird names are those?

"Good idea. Dumbledore should know what happened." Hermione Granger turned to me again, a kind, albeit somewhat dumbed-down expression on her face. "Listen, Blake. We'll take you to the Headmaster's office, alright? He's a nice man, and he'll know how to sort this mess out, okay?"

"Okay." I replied dully.

The two - Carrot-Top Ron and Hermione - began to walk ahead. I followed suit, beside the other friend, whose name I'd yet to figure out. As they trudged up a hill, I overheard their low voices, urgently discussing.

"Bloody mental, that is - hit by lightning! Who could've lived through that?" Ron muttered.

"Shush up, Ron! She can hear us!" Hermione chastised.

"Well, it's true! Suppose she's telling the truth then?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Being _struck by bloody lightning,_ Hermione? Does that sound normal to you?" Ron demanded in a forced sort of undertone.

"I suppose not, no." Hermione replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps her mind's been tampered with. That would explain why everything is so vague and unreal."

Wait, wait, _wait._ My what has been _what_ with? Hell. No.

"I am not crazy!" I spluttered out, causing them to turn around guiltily.

"No one said you were!" Hermione defended weakly - but Ron steered her away by the arm, and the conversation ended there.

"Your friends - they're talking about me like I'm some sort of alien from outer space. Not cool." I whined to the guy beside me.

"They're bloody mental, those two." He agreed. "But I guess it's right for them to be a little weirded out. I mean, it's not everyday you're sitting around for free period, tossing stones in the lake, when someone just falls out of the sky. Surprised you're not bruised."

"Yeah, I guess life just decided to cushion my fall." I said dryly. The boy laughed, though my bitten sarcasm wasn't meant for humor.

"I'm Harry, by the way." He introduced. "Harry Potter."

He looked pretty guarded after this, like he was expecting me to say, '_you're that kid I need to assassinate!_' and then jump him.

So, I said, "That's a nice name." Really diplomatically.

He relaxed after this. I guess he realized I had no desire to kill him, whatsoever.

Now, if he were Kyle Jameson, that would be an entirely different story.

"So you don't remember anything about coming here?"

"I do so!" I frowned. "It's like I said, for the millionth time now, by the way - I got struck by lightning. I don't know why, and I don't know how I'm still alive. Okay?"

"That must have been interesting." He said politely. We left it at that - I got a feeling my moody outbursts and confusing stories didn't make me a perfect conversationalist. Oh, well.

Something loomed into view as we walked further on. It was a massive black shape, towering over all of us. Growing closer, I realized it was a structure. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a big, black castle, built like an ominous, haunted church in the middle of nowhere. There were long towers that shot into the sky, and large annexes on every side. There must have been about a hundred floors on that thing.

"Holy shit." I breathed disbelievingly. "You... Live here?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Harry Potter said proudly, though I couldn't understand why - the place was like a fucking death trap waiting to happen. "Home sweet home."

It was then I burst out into loud tears.

"What's gotten into her?" Ron demanded, as Hermione stopped and scurried over to me. Harry shushed him, and the redhead closed his mouth, his face sour.

"Oh, no, what's wrong?" Hermione sounded panicky, like she wasn't sure if she should bandage my mouth or my tear glands. Embarrassing sobs escaped my throat.

"Wh-what's wrong?" I choked. "I w-want to go h-home!"

They remained quite silent, probably at a complete loss on what to do with a sky-fallen girl a million miles away from home, and now bawling like there was no tomorrow.

"Don't worry, um, Blake." Harry assured me, though very awkwardly. "Dumbledore'll sort it all out. He'll get you home straight away."

"H-how?" I sniffled, letting the tears drip past my cheeks, down to the ground. "What's he going to do? Send me home by m-magic?"

Another pause.

"Let's move faster." Hermione suggested evasively. "We need to get her to Dumbledore. Come on, Ron!"

Carrot-Top stomped behind us, crushing the grass underneath his soles. Clearly, he wasn't happy with the way things were turning out.

Whereas I - well, I was having the time of my life, wasn't I?

Not.

* * *

Entering the castle, I was deposited in front of a large statue of a golden eagle, Harry Potter by my side. Hermione Granger began to drag her friend Ron away, calling over her shoulder, "We need to get to class, Harry! Take her upstairs to Dumbledore, and we'll see you later!"

I looked around. Around me were cold stone walls, with no openings, and definitely no staircases. Upstairs to Dumbledore, where?

As if answering my unsaid question, Harry Potter said, "You might want to take a few steps back. And, uh, just relax."

I did as I was told - not too much of the relaxing bit, though, I had to admit.

Harry Potter stood in front of the great bird, as if trying to have a staring contest with it. Then, in a clear, loud voice, he said, "Acid pops."

Before I even had time to consider what on earth this could have meant, the golden eagle gave a flutter of its wings, and stepped aside. A spiral staircase appeared from behind it.

Hold up. The golden eagle just _what?_

"Holy shit." It took all of my remaining strength not to completely pass out.

No, chill out, Blake. Seriously. It could be just one of those really, really high-tech effects that are meant to be really cool and all, like in the movies.

Yeah. That's it.

"Um, right this way." Harry gestured. He began to climb the staircase. I took one wobbly step forward, told myself to man up, then followed him up the winding steps. We reached a big, wooden door, upon which Harry Potter rapped smartly on.

"Come in, please." A feeble voice said. Harry turned the doorknob, and motioned for me to enter. So, I did.

The room was crazy. Not, like, those carnival-clown crazy that's all over the top and slightly scary, with long multicolored streamers and a bunch of creepy-ass drawings all over the wall. It was like the inside of a golden museum, with gilded frames of paintings hanging off every inch of the walls, and large bookcases and a highly polished desk in the center of the room. It was like the kind of study a posh British aristocrat should have.

At the desk sat an elderly man, with a long, white beard. He wore the most peculiar attire - like robes, that swept the floor he would walk on. On his head was a tall, pointy hat, not unlike the ones Merlin in the movies always wears.

And I started thinking to myself, **_this_ **_is Dumbledore? Are you shitting me_?

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry walked in, closing the door behind him.

"Harry, good morning. I'd assumed you'd be enjoying your free period at this time. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The man, Dumbledore, said pleasantly.

"Well, sir, we were out by the lake this morning, and something happened..." He trailed off, his eyes shifting to me for a brief moment.

"Yes?" Dumbledore urged on. Harry Potter took a deep breath, and explained what had happened - more or less, I mean, the lightning thing, and the falling thing, and the not knowing what to do thing. All my snarky comments seemed to have been edited out of the story, though.

Dumbledore listened patiently, never interrupting. He only spoke after Harry Potter's mini-tale had finished, and this was only to dismiss him. "I see. Thank you, Harry. You may return to your classes now."

Harry Potter hesitated for a short while, then nodded. "Thank you, sir." Without looking at me, he exited the great room.

And then I was left alone with this crazily dressed man in his crazily decorated room.

Shit scared? I think so.

"Please, have a seat, Ms. Asher." He signaled to the two chairs in front of his large desk. Dumbfounded, I did as requested - but the moment my butt hit the cushion, I blurted out.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, we've been expecting you, of course." Dumbledore answered warmly.

"You have?" I was taken aback. The old man nodded.

"Yes, of course, Ms. Asher. Our newest transferee, if I'm not mistaken? I'm certain your parents' letter is here somewhere - Ah!" And he cleared his throat, reading aloud from a piece of parchment he'd extracted from a tall pile. "_... It is our request that you accept our daughter, Brianna Leighton Katherine Asher, into your prestigious school of Hogwarts, in order for her to complete her education on the ways of witchcraft and wizardry, as formerly instructed in her previous school, Waterbridge. Hoping for your kind consideration. Sincerely, Ella and Brandon Asher_."

I blinked in complete disbelief as he folded up the paper neatly and set it aside.

"Well, I daresay there's always room for one more mind for molding." He said cheerily. "And here you are, Ms. Asher. I hope your travels went smoothly?"

"Smoothly? I was - well, I was hit by lightning!" I cried out, confused.

"Ah, yes. Unfortunate - though, not uncommon, from faulty portkeys. Your mind must be a bit muddled - but nothing a good sleep can't sort out! And speaking of sorting!"

My mind was reeling about. A new school? Witchcraft and Wizardry? Waterbridge?

My parents wrote a letter to this dude to accept me into this bogus school for mini-merlins? How is that even possible? My parents watch the news and drink coffee and eat doughnuts every morning! They don't have time to send letters to crazy British people!

And what the _fuck_ was a portkey?

But this Dumbledore guy wasn't even paying attention to my inside ramblings. Instead, he walked on to a shelf, where he picked up a ratty old piece of cloth. As he brought it over, I realized it was a hat. A really gross, patched-up-and-torn-again, dusty hat.

And the guy was going to put it on my head.

"What's that for?" I jumped up, ready to self-defend.

"It is a hat, of course, for wearing. Though, not everyday, I gather." His bright blue eyes twinkled in the bright light.

"Oh, well - couldn't I just buy one of my own?" I grasped desperately.

"Oh, dear girl, you won't have this hat to wear." He chuckled softly. "It is to sort you into your house, and, of course, your respective dormitory."

"What's a house?" I was pretty sure I had one of those back home in West Palm Beach, but, you know, just to be safe.

"Quite like a clan of people grouped together. They're, as they would say, your teammates. Your comrades. Those who are like you, trait and personality-wise. Good thing for keeping order too." He added merrily. "Please, have a seat, Ms. Asher."

Wearily, I sat down once again. I saw Dumbledore shake out his sleeve, and carefully place the disgusting old thing on my head. It sank down, way too big for me, past my eyes, so I couldn't see anything.

In the darkness of the hat, I waited, thinking to myself, _this is stupid. This is very stupid_.

"_What's stupid_?"

I screamed.

"The hat just crapping talked to me!" I exclaimed, yanking it off my head and flinging it to the ground, where it lay quite still.

"Certainly." Dumbledore said patiently. "Sit still, please, Ms. Asher?"

My lower lip trembled as he slipped the hat onto my head again. Holy crap, this thing is going to talk to me again-

"_Now, where to put you?_"

My heart clawed at my chest, and I felt like I was going to explode. Holy Jesus. This was so fucking weird it wasn't even half funny anymore. In fact, it was retarded. Absolutely retarded.

"_Strong will, I see. And a sharp tongue as well. And stubborn. Very, very, stubborn_."

Okay, crazy hat. Thank you for pointing out all my major flaws. You're really an ego-booster. Really.

"_What better house to put you in than in... _Slytherin!"

The last word rang out and echoed tenfold. After announcing this out to the whole world, the hat returned to lifelessness once again. Dumbledore carefully pulled it off.

I sat there, lightheadedly contemplating what the word _Slytherin _meant. I'm not sure why, but it vaguely reminded me of Sylvester Stallone.

What the fuck.

"Very good, Ms. Asher. You'll find all your things have been placed in your dormitory when you arrive there. Your schedule will follow shortly, effective tomorrow. Please, by all means, make yourself at home." Dumbledore said kindly. "The Slytherin common rooms are down the hall, a right turn, then down three staircases. If you wish, I will request for someone to escort you there. I believe the current password is, '_Pureblood_'."

"Uhm, thank you. I'll just... Go there on my own. Thank you, sir." I stood up. Shit, I needed to get out of here.

"You're welcome, Ms. Asher. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I smiled weakly, then began to walk to the door. But my feet were pretty uncooperative, and whatever support my knees were giving me a while back failed me now. All the fortitude in my body had somehow seeped out of my system while I was sitting down.

Whatever the reason, I guess my body decided to just crumple to the floor, then pass out.

Which is, you know. Great. Perfect, really.

* * *

A.N.: Yes, I know it's starting off really really crappily. Please bear with me! I'm trying to make this as anti-cliche as possible. So I'd really like to hear from you all!

Reviews! : )

Love.


	3. Meetings

Today was the second time I woke up without knowing where I was. Or, at least it felt like another day. It felt like I'd spent most of my time either unconscious or completely baffled. It wasn't really the best routine I could make for myself. The only good thing about it all was that I, for once, found myself on a bed.

Just that. A bed - a single white cushion among many others. The pristine sheets had been drawn up to my chin, encasing me like a five-foot-six mummy. With some struggle, I kicked them off, freeing myself. I looked around - there was no light beaming in from the window, telling me that night had fallen. However, the exact time was still unknown to me. Groaning, I leaned back on the fluffy pillows, shaking my head. Where was I? Most definitely in some crack area in London. How did I get here? I don't know, shot by lightning was my story, but no one seemed to believe me. Why was I here?

No. Fucking. Clue.

Shit. This wasn't some crazy dream, or some coma hallucination. I was stuck here - though _'here'_ was a vague sort of concept as well, as far as anything went. But I was here, with no way of getting home, and no idea how some epic life had somehow been fabricated for me in the time I took being transported.

All in all, I was pretty screwed.

At least that much, I was sure of.

That was it. I had to figure this out. Maybe I could just lie low until the next thunderstorm came, then create myself a deathwish and beg the universe to electrocute me again.

Yeah. That was a good idea.

I swung my bare feet over the side of my bed, my soles touching the cold, marble floor. Pulling on my sneakers, I tiptoed out of the long, white room, and into a corridor. I looked around at the four - no, five paths that branched out from where I stood.

Now, where was I going again?

Oh shit. Maybe I'd just sit here and wait for someone to pick me up out of the pure mercy of their hearts. But who was I kidding, really? Even that could take a lifetime and a half.

"Blake!"

The familiar(-ly annoying) voice of Hermione Granger called out to me. She and her two boyfriends approached from the hall to my immediate right. It sort of made her look like this sort of pimp. But, I don't know. Whatever it was, I had to stifle a snicker.

"Were you able to talk to Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, a large book clutched close to her chest.

"Uh, yeah. Cool dude. Really... Eccentric." I answered carefully.

"And? What happened?" She pressed on.

"I'm staying. Basically." With not an inkling on how to get home and just get on with my life as if none of this crazy-ass shit happened.

"That's good news." Harry Potter said politely. I shrugged.

"I guess."

"What're you doing out here alone?" Ron the Carrot-Top wondered loudly. I realized I still had yet to find out his last name. One day, I would. Well, maybe.

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes. I wondered if they had a thing going on. It would make a hell lot of sense.

"Well, I came from there," I gestured to the now-empty room behind me, "Then I decided to leave. So I walked. And wound up out here. Alone."

It sounded a lot more adventurous when it came out of my mouth.

"What were you doing in the hospital wing?" Harry Potter asked. Oh, that was what it was?

"Uh, check-up. Prerequisite for, um, foreign transferees. You know how it is." I replied vaguely. No way was I going to say I fainted in the crazy old man's office. How embarrassing.

"Oh." And that was all for that part of the conversation.

"So, you've gotten sorted already?" Want us to walk you to your common room?" The way it was said by Hermione made it sound like I had no choice in the matter. Still, I wouldn't have minded so much company - this place was like the Labyrinth of God times ten. I nodded.

"Yeah, are any of you guys Slytherins or something?"

Personally, I think it would be difficult to describe the looks of shock and disgust on their faces. But if there was one word to sum it all up, it would definitely be "epic".

After a long silence, Ron suddenly said, in a very monotonous voice, "We have to get going now. Curfew, and all."

Hermione Granger shifted her weight uncomfortably to her left foot. Harry Potter cleared his throat to try to break the tension that now fell upon us like some two-ton weight.

It failed, of course.

"Oh, okay. Sure." I said quietly. Ron shook his head, then walked off in a rather rude, dismissive manner. Harry shrugged, then followed slowly after his friend.

"The Slytherin common room is down this hall," Hermione whispered, pointing to the dimly lit corridor a little to my left. "Past the painting of the sleeping dragon, then turn left to the stairs. It'll lead you straight down to the portrait hole, I think. You'll know it when you see it."

"Hermione!" Ron snapped, his voice echoing in the darkness.

"Good luck," Hermione turned then hurried after her gang. As they walked away, I heard Carrot-Top say something like, 'told you that girl was nothing but trouble. Now she's in Slytherin! What did I tell you?'.

I blew my hair out of my face, annoyed. What the fuck was that all about I didn't have some fatally contagious disease, or whatever. No STDs either.

Not that I knew of, anyway.

I decided there was nothing else for it, so I took Hermione's directions and bolted down the dim corridor. It was pretty scary, with all the weird passageways and wall torches. But I pushed my fears aside and continued on, my eyes glued to the passing walls for the portrait of the sleeping dragon.

Only after about a million paintings, I found it - a long, ugly and scaly creature curled up in a cold stone cave. Under its gigantic belly was a mountain of immeasurable gold. But it was a pretty cool painting, and pretty good, actually. Like, it seemed so alive. Snoring, even.

I cocked an eyebrow, then leaned in closer, inspecting the artwork. Tiny ringlets of smoke seemed to be coming out of its huge nostrils.

'Just a trick of the light,' I was thinking to myself, when, slowly but very surely, it opened a single, sleepy yellow eye.

"Jesus Christ!" I gasped, hurtling backward. The one dimensional dragon gave a short, gruff sneeze, then returned to its nap.

"Okay, Blake. Relax. Just get to where you're supposed to go." I reprimanded myself weakly. "Then you can freak out all you like."

I walked past the painting, careful not to make eye contact. Skipping a stair at a time, I found myself face-to-face with a large archway painting. It was about a head or more taller than me, and I know this was an entrance to the so-called common room.

Now. What was that password?

The only thing that seemed to register into my head was '_vampire'. _Somehow, I could deduce that wasn't the right answer. "Christ. What was it again?"

"Forgotten, have you?"

I turned to see a boy my age, with sleek black hair and a pale, thin face. His eyes were the piercing ice-blue that sent shivers through my skin. Dumbfounded, I nodded. "Step aside, then. _Pureblood_." He told the great portrait boredly. The side of the painting detached itself from the wall, swinging forward slightly. The boy took a hold of it and pushed it open, to reveal a small, round passageway. I peered in - the room was huge, like twice my living room and about three times as much furniture. There was a fireplace, too. Cool.

"Well?" The boy said, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh. Sorry. I thought you - never mind." Awkwardly, I ducked my head and entered the common room. It was chilly, despite the merrily crackling fire. I heard the door (painting, whatever) shut behind me.

"I'm expecting your gratitude any minute now." The boy drawled, coming up beside me. I flushed red, though I wasn't too sure why.

"Oh. Thanks." I said lamely.

"You're that new student, aren't you?" When I nodded, he continued, "You're lucky. Not many people are sorted into the best house in Hogwarts." He stuck out a long slender hand, and I shook it. "Blaise Zabini."

"Blake Asher."

"Huh. Asher. Never heard that name before. You're not... Muggle born, are you?" He asked, suddenly venomous in his tone.

"Uh. I don't - no, I'm not," I quickly changed my answer, seeing the frightening look on his face. But, when I said this, his features relaxed, just as immediately as they had seized up. "Thought so. You look like a Pureblood."

"Uh." I wasn't sure if this was a compliment or not. "Thanks. I guess."

"Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't."

"Figures. Well, make yourself at home, Asher. You'll fit in well, I think." He winked and let go of my hand, then disappeared up the staircase to my left.

Okay. Now what?

I collapsed onto a plush leather couch, my skin erupting into tiny goosebumps as the cold of the hide came into contact with me. Maybe I'd just sleep out here - the fire was pretty close. I'd just about settled myself into the cushions when a creaking came from the passageway, signaling the entrance of a few others.

"... _sure_, Draco? It could be, well, dangerous, I mean-" It was a girl's voice, high and overly-dramatic. But it was quickly overlapped by an exasperated male voice.

"He picked _me_ for this task, and I don't care what it takes! I wouldn't suppose you'd understand, anyway, what do you know-"

They stopped as they rounded the corner and spotted me. I concluded that their voices fit their owners perfectly. The girl was rather short and slim, with a tanned face and dark, glittering eyes. Her raven hair hung past her shoulders, down to her waist. On her face was a seemingly permanent expression of slight disgust.

The boy beside her was tall, lean, and very pale. Short, platinum blonde hair fell lazily into smoky grey eyes. In his hand was what looked like a straight, polished and burnt twig. His thin lips curled downward, looking disapproving. Without another word, he swept past his female companion and up the stairs, where Blaise Zabini had just disappeared into. The girl looked at me.

"And who are you?" She demanded imperiously.

"Blake Asher. You are?"

"Are you the new transferee, then?" She ignored my question completely. I nodded silently. She shot my something between a sneer and a smirk. "You should consider yourself lucky. Not too many people-"

"Get into the best house in Hogwarts. So I've heard." Were all the people here as snarky as this girl? If so, I think I'd rather be with Hermione Granger. Hell, I'd rather be with Carrot-Top.

"That's good." She took a seat beside me. Her heavy rose perfume wafted past my nose as she whipped her hair back - I resisted the urge to gag. "Are you from a long line, then?"

I didn't know what this meant, so, I said, "I'm from America". Which, I think, is a brilliantly safe answer.

"Oh. Are there a lot of purebloods there?"

"I wouldn't know." I answered honestly. What in the good name of Jimi Hendrix was a Pureblood? And why did these people give a damn so much it hurt? "Are you, um, a pureblood, too, then?"

"Of course!" She looked affronted.

"Just wondering," I muttered under my breath. She did not seem to hear me.

"The Parkinsons have held their pure lineage in high esteem for many centuries. How could someone even suggest a single drop of mudblood filth could flow in our veins? Outrageous!"

"Right." I nodded. "And who are you?"

"I," She drew herself up to her full height, which, in truth, wasn't too impressive, "Am Pansy Parkinson."

"But... isn't Parkinson's some kind of sickness?" I wondered politely. Her expression turned livid.

"You watch your tongue!" She exclaimed in her fury.

"I was just wondering," I repeated hastily.

"Wondering? How dare you even... What an insult! I don't even... I can't... Hold your tongue!" Her derisive splutters increased in volume until they reached a shrill maximum.

"Bloody hell, Pansy! Keep it down, lunatic!"

Blaise Zabini emerged from the stairs he'd gone up, looking irritated. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Scared the fucking hair off my arms. What're you going on about? Never mind, don't tell me. I don't really care, much. Shouldn't you be patrolling at this time, then?"

"I can't leave without Draco," She replied haughtily.

"Yes, you can, you just won't." He rolled his eyes, then turned to the passage of stairs. "Oi, Malfoy! Get your pale arse down here right now!"

There was a short scuffle and a sort of curse, and the blonde boy stormed down the steps, arms folded across his chest.

"Don't boss me around, Zabini. You know fully well who you're dealing with."

"Better me than Snape getting on your case for shirking Head Boy duty." Blaise Zabini pointed out. "Heard he's not too happy these days, Snape. Shame, really."

"Thought Pansy was having a civilized conversation with the newcomer." Draco defended himself.

"Civilized being the loose term." Blaise wedged himself between me and the Parkinson girl, who looked sour. "Go on, then, oh mighty Prefects."

Pansy Parkinson got up, her tone shifting to a sort of cooing sweetness as she spoke to Draco. "Come on, Draco. We should go, er, _patrol_." She urged. Draco shrugged.

"Fine. Later, Zabini."

"Later, Malfoy." And the two disappeared behind the portrait hole. "Picking fights on your first day, then? Bad influence, you are." He _tsk_ed and shook his head.

"Hey, I didn't start it!" I argued hotly. I just asked a couple of get to know questions, no one told me she was fucking neurotic."

"Pansy? No, she's okay. Got a temper though, you have to watch out about staying on her good side. And don't try to steal Draco from her side - worse than a lifetime in Azkaban."

'Thanks for the heads up."

"You're welcome." He grinned, ignoring my sarcasm. "We Slytherins have to stay together, you know? We're the only ones who'll stick up for each other. The other houses hate us, really. They have their so-called reasons, but I have better ones."

"So I've basically bought myself a ticket to sociopathy." I frowned, my tone dry.

"No, You've bought yourself the golden ticket to awesomeness."

"Thanks, I guess I'm wallowing in all my luck today." I stood up, shaking my head. "I'm going to bed."

"Suit yourself." He slouched down cooly into the couch. "Nice talking."

"Is that the dormitory?" I asked, pointing to the left staircase. He turned to see where I'd gestured.

"Yeah - the _boy's_ dormitory. But," He smirked wickedly. "Go on up ahead. I don't mind sharing at all."

I scrunched my nose at this gross comment - boys are always boys, no matter where you are. He laughed.

"Thanks. Guess it's the other one." I began walking up the steps to the right, my feet dragging along the rough stone.

"Goodnight, Asher." He called out, without turning around. I stopped mid-step, listening to see if Blaise Zabini would say anything else. He didn't.

I let out a shaky breath.

"Goodnight."

* * *

A.N.: So, hi~ again. : ) Just so you know, yes, I've changed quite a lot, especially Pansy, because I think it's really odd that people always portray her as butt-ugly when she and Malfoy had an implied _thing_ in the book. Sort of. I dunno. Thought I'd make her a bit prettier, so that's just for, you know. Explanation.

Reviews? I really wanna hear your thoughts and suggestions, please!

Loveee : )


	4. Caught

I ascended the steps, finding myself face-to-face with a double door. On it was a polished, silver sign that read, "_Dormitories_".

Ha! Finally, I was doing something right! My pride swelled, and I raised a fist to knock quickly on the wood. There was a long pause, then a loud voice said, "Come in". I turned the knob, and stepped into my new bedroom for who knows how long.

It was a massive circular room, the ceiling a high dome above my head. Placed against the curved walls were huge four-posters, with moss-green sheets and intricate silver patterns. Against each side of them were short end tables, and at the foot of each were hat looked like huge metal boxes. Girls of all adolescent ages sat or lay on their mattresses, some fixing their hair, others scrawling letters on top of ratty looking textbooks. This all stopped, however, when I came in.

It was as if some bombed had dropped on all their heads. Thunderstruck expressions were mirrored on each of their faces, staring at me like I was the ghost of Christmas Past.

Then, suddenly, one of them burst out laughing.

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed, as the whole room exploded into girlish conversation once again. The ones who were "busy" writing shoved their papers into the books and pulled out little pocket novels, with weird titles like, "Charming Wizards," or self-help books that tell you how to snag a warlock in three days, tops. Everyone began moving at a more teenager-ish pace, and one girl was applying make-up, although it was very well near the middle of the damn night.

The girl who'd laughed addressed me, "You're the new student, right? Your bed's over here, right beside mine."

She motioned to an empty bed, and I walked over to it, albeit a little more stiffly than I would have liked. Without anything else but my ass to set down, I sat on the cushion, feeling the softness sink under my weight.

"Scared the life out of all of us, you did. No one ever knocks at our dormitory unless it's bad." She leaned over and stuck out a hand. "I'm Astoria. Astoria Greengrass."

"Uh, hello." I shook her hand - it was soft, but very cold. "I'm Blake. Blake Asher."

"You have a funny accent. Are you from London?"

"No. I'm from Florida."

"Where's that?" She looked confused. "Is that in Asia?"

"No, in the United States of America." I replied.

"Oh. I've never been to America. Actually, most of us haven't been out of the United Kingdom, really." She shrugged, retracting her hand. "Doing alright settling in, then?"

"Fine, I guess." I shrugged.

"So where did you study before transferring to Hogwarts?"

"I - high school." I mentally slapped myself. _High school_? Really, Blake, these kids are nearly the same age as you.

"What's that? Is that some sort of American magic school?" Astoria Greengrass wondered, intrigued.

"Uh, yeah, totally."

"Sounds pretty high-end. _High school_. Is it any good there?"

"Sure, I guess. Everyone goes to high school." _Not that they enjoy the hellish hole_.

"Wow. So there must be a lot of purebloods there."

"You could say that." In order to save myself from more humiliation, I looked around for something interesting to talk about. My eyes landed on Astoria's end table, where something like a strange-looking alarm clock sat, along with a pin of a serpent, and a long stick (ha. This is wrong out of context.), vaguely similar to that of Draco's.

"Does everyone have one of those?" I pointed to the stick. Astoria looked, and her eyes widened.

"Are you mad, of course! How could you have possibly entered this place without a wand?" She gasped, beside herself. Her eyes were wide - I had a feeling this was magic mortal sin number one.

"Well, I - I don't know. But I don't... have one. Anymore," I added hastily, when I saw her face pale, and her eyes glint with slight suspicion.

"But then - no materials? Textbooks, cauldrons, not even a pet?" I shook my head to all of these questions. "How do you learn magic in America?"

"Uh. Theory." I mumbled.

"Oh, that's awful." She said sympathetically. I couldn't believe how well my lying (well, I wouldn't call it lying. Just more of, say, twisting the obvious truth) was working out. "Perhaps you could go tomorrow - I'm sure Snape would be willing to write you out, you can't go to class unprepared."

"Yeah, maybe." I nodded. Astoria looked at me like I was some pitiful midget ready to be squashed. Kind of annoying, actually.

"Okay, girls, how do I look?" The girl fixing her make-up straightened up from the mirror and turned to us.

A chorus of, "Brilliant, Daphne!" and "You look ravishing!" and "He won't be able to resist that!" came from the mouth of the girls, admiring the student as she grinned cheekily at them.

"Daphne, my sister," Astoria said to me, like I'd asked. "Sneaks out almost every night, nowadays."

"What for?" And honestly, who cared? Sneaking out in this place was like having a stroll in Pan's labyrinth, really.

"For Blaise, of course." She replied simply. "The boy's got a bit of a death wish, really. A risk streak, you might say. But, seeing as he is who he is, I s'pose it's just a boost to his image."

"What image, exactly?"

"Blaise hangs with the Slytherin greats - Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini are like kings and queens in the house. Snape adores them, really. And most people are deathly afraid of them. They're like a - a... Oh, what's the word... tr-" And she fumbled for the correct term.

"Triumvirate?" I supplied helpfully. She looked relieved.

"Yes, exactly that."

There was a loud rapping on the window at the far end of the room. Daphne Greengrass hurried to the sill, and unlatched the glass, pushing it open.

"What's she doing?" I asked, alarmed. I didn't want to be here when she committed suicide. I'd had enough trauma for one day.

"Nothing, Blaise just likes a bit of flair. That's how he is, the lunatic." Astoria giggled. Sure enough, the sleek black head appeared at the window, grinning from ear to ear.

"Don't expect your sister to be back before the sun rises, Astoria." He held out a hand to Daphne, who giggled rather nervously and took it. Slowly, he led her out of the window.

"What's he doing? Doesn't he know she'll die?" I demanded.

"Relax, he's on a broom. She'll be alright, he knows how to handle one, among many other things." Astoria said dismissively.

A _broom_? Like that detestable thing people used to sweep floors with? _That_ kind of broom? Didn't only crazy old hangs with a zillion warts on their faces use those?

Daphne Greengrass carefully sat herself down behind Blaise Zabini, wrapping her arms around his slim waist. He turned to the rest of the girls sitting in the dormitory, watching, many with disgruntled, unhappy expressions on their faces.

"All right, Asher?" He called to me, smirking.

"Um." I replied intelligently.

"Don't wait up," He advised us - then, in a flash, he was gone, leaving behind only a swinging windowpane.

"Lucky bitch," one girl muttered under her breath, catching the window and slamming it shut with so much force I was surprised the glass didn't shatter.

"You know Blaise?" Astoria wondered incredulously.

"No, I mean, I don't know him. I got stuck outside and he lent me the password. That's all." I replied quickly.

"And he was nice to you?"

"I guess so."

"Wicked. I don't think I've seen Blaise nice to anyone he didn't know."

"Maybe he had a life-changing experience over the summer." I suggested. Astoria giggled.

"You have a cool sense of humor. I like that."

"I redefine it as sarcasm."

"Lights out, girls!" A familiar high voice called in from the doorway. Pansy Parkinson entered the dormitory, her long hair swinging around as she walked. "And where's Daphne?"

"As if you wouldn't know, Pansy." A student near the door snickered. Pansy rolled her eyes.

"She'll get caught if she doesn't watch it, by those nosy Gryffindor prefects. I hear Granger hasn't decked a point from us since the year started - she's losing her touch." And she let out an annoying giggle.

"And you, Pansy? How many points have you taken off the Gryffindors?" Another girl asked.

"Not too much, I suspect - she's too busy snogging Draco in the Transfiguration classroom!" Astoria scoffed amusedly.

"Oh, shut it, Astoria." Pansy snapped, flushing red. "Draco and I go on prefect patrol - nothing more, nothing less."

"Then I suppose that Draco's found someone much more interesting to snog," Astoria lay down on her pillows, smirking.

"Bite it, Greengrass. Just because you're bitter that your sister's dating the love of your life - oh, oops." Pansy simpered as Astoria scowled. "Well, lights out, then, chop chop!"

And the room grew pitch black, the only light coming from the window, from the pale moon that shone a million miles above.

I lay down on my sheets, trying to think about what happened, what I was doing, where I was, and how I would survive. I tried to consider my life as I knew it, and my life as I didn't. I attempted to contemplate ever getting out of here, or staying till the good Lord took my life.

But sleep washed over me, and I succumbed, letting go of all the thoughts I had as I closed my eyes.

* * *

"Blake? Blake. Blake? Wake up, Blake."

Someone was shaking the skin out of me. It was pretty damn annoying. I swatted the hand away, groaning in an attempt to communicate my irritation.

"Blake, it's morning, and you're going to Diagon Alley to get your things."

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was the sun. How unpleasant. So I shut them again, refusing to get up.

"Seriously, Blake, I won't call you up again." The voice sounded annoyed.

"Not now, Astoria. It's early."

"But you have to go, really, Blake, you aren't going to be able to get your materials otherwise."

I braved the sun again. Astoria Greengrass was looking down at me, exasperated. "Finally. Get up, come on. I'm going to be late for class."

I sat up, rubbing the sleep and dreams out of my eyes. I checked the clock - seven-thirty. Fuck, dude, class started at nine back home.

"Wait, you're not coming with me?" I asked as I watched her grab her bookbag and swing it over her shoulder.

"No, I've got class. Blaise will take you, he's got free period all morning. You can borrow some of my clothes if you like, I think they'll fit you enough." She bolted out the door, calling out, "Later, Blake!"

Ah, great. I wasn't even sure where exactly I was going.

When I came down, having changed quickly into the first clothes I found in the box at the foot of Astoria's bed (among many other things, I found a few books, what looked like a tiny, glowing top, and a box of cat litter), I found Blaise Zabini waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his hands behind his back.

"Morning, Asher." He greeted, though not quite as lively as I'd expected.

"Rough night partying?" I asked, pulling my hair up.

"Among many other things." He replied shortly, and that was all there was to that.

"So, you're going with me to... Where exactly are we going?" I asked sheepishly. He beckoned me out of the portrait hole, and we began walking through the corridors - me, following his every step in fear that I would get lost.

"Diagon Alley. We're going to get all your things today."

"And why is it that you volunteered to do this special task?" I inquired.

"Is it so difficult to believe that I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart?" He demanded indignantly. When I shook my head, He sighed, and said, "Yes, I suppose you're right. The nosy bat Dumbledore caught me out of bed last night with Daphne. This is me, serving detention."

"How is this such a bad thing, skipping class?"

"I'm not sure, actually. I'm telling you, the man should be knocked off - better for the school and the students, know what I'm saying?"

"No." I replied honestly.

"You have guts, I'll give you that." He commended me. We walked on, until we reached what looked like the main entrance of the place. On the last stone step sat a mangy old boot. "This portkey will take us straight to London. Just don't let go, or you'll go off wandering someplace you don't know."

"What's a portkey?" I asked, hoping my question would finally get answered.

"Something that's been enchanted to transport us to a certain area. Don't you have any of those where you come from?"

"No," I said, watching with interest as he held it up to me. It didn't seem like the kind of thing I'd want to travel with. "Do I wear it?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, you hold onto it. Hurry, up, mind you!" He added as the disgusting thing began to grow a bright blue aura. I'd only managed to pinch it with my thumb and forefinger when I was felt like I was being sucked into a blender, swirled around like a McFlurry (the oreo kind, because I love those). It was dizzying, and I actually felt like I was going to be sick.

But just as fast as the feeling had come, it disappeared - and I found myself wobbling upon solid ground, looking around at a busy street that was going around in circles in my vision. People of all ages and sizes bustled around, shoving each other to get to one of the many shops that lined each side of the road. There were carts, selling all kinds of weird things, like hair growth drinks and love potions, and watches that sang everytime a new hour began. I looked on in amazement, wondering what on earth I could be buying here.

"Right. Clean yourself off, Asher, you've got dust all over you." Blaise said from behind me. Embarrassedly, I patted the dust off Astoria's clothes, sneezing as I did so. Blaise ignored me. "Shall we go? Wand for you first, it says on the list. You haven't got a wand?" He looked at me incredulously.

"Uh. No. Not really. Not... Anymore. It, um, broke." Could wands even break? Apparently, they could, as Blaise shook his head, and said, 'Pity'.

He led me through the crowd with apparent ease - clearly, he'd been through here many times before. People bumped my shoulder and squashed me from every side imaginable. Thank God for Blaise's height, or I might have died in there.

He stopped in front of an old-looking shop, named "Ollivander's". Pushing the dusty glass door open, he motioned for me to enter. "In you go, Asher." Meekly, I ducked into the shop - the smell of attic and wood filled my nose almost instantly. I coughed.

"Welcome, Mr. Zabini." A soft voice said from behind the counter in the middle of the room. The door swung shut, and an elderly man appeared from under the counter, his whitish-grey hair sticking up from his head like a madman's.

"Mr. Ollivander," Blaise said dismissively. "My friend here needs a wand."

"Yes, yes." Mr. Ollivander agreed, as if he sold anything else. "And who is your friend?"

"Asher. Blake Asher."

"Well, Ms. Asher. Step this way, please, and we'll find you a proper wand. Yes, that's right. Have you owned a wand previously?" He queried, lifting my wrist with his wrinkled fingers feebly.

"Uh, yes." I replied nervously.

"Good, good. And what was it made of?" He asked absentmindedly.

What was it made of? How the fuck would I know? Blaise looked at me expectantly, obviously waiting for me to say something spectacular.

"Well, I - I wouldn't -" I spluttered. "I mean - What does it matter? I'm getting a new one!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blaise Zabini smirk.

Mr. Ollivander stopped inspecting my left hand and looked up into my eyes - his were an off-putting grey, almost silvery white, very distant and cold. It gave me the shivers.

"Quite right, Ms. Asher. Your wand arm, please?"

My wand arm? I don't think I had one of those. I looked at my body. Yep, I only had two arms, sorry.

"Your writing arm, please, Ms. Asher." Mr. Ollivander said patiently.

"Oh, right." I stuck out my left arm awkwardly. He nodded, then retreated into a small room, with shelves on three walls, those of which were filled with countless tiny boxes, like a shoebox sliced in half. They were narrow, and rather short - not to mention precariously stacked. With little effort, he slid out one exactly like the others, muttering, "Hawthorn, twelve and a half inches, phoenix hair".

_What_?

He presented the end of the wand to me - gingerly, I took it. I expected something cool to happen, like an epiphany.

Of course, since I'm so cool, nothing like that happened.

"Um." I said smartly. "What now?"

"Well, give it a wave," Mr. Ollivander advised me, as Blaise chortled.

It felt so stupid. Stiffly, I raised my arm, and flicked my wrist. Immediately, a window at the far back shattered with a bang.

"No, no," Mr. Ollivander took the wand from me and went back into his small room, pulling out two boxes at a time. The first one he took out, he described as, "Oak, fifteen inches, dragon heartstring". Naturally, I gave it a little wave, and something chaotic happened - like the cabinet on the side of the room burst into flames.

"Not to worry, not to worry," Mr. Ollivander assured me as Blaise tried to extinguish the flames. "Try this one. Willow, eleven inches, with unicorn tail as its core. Go on, try it."

This time, the entire shelf on the right wall of the small room collapsed completely.

And it went on, and on, and on. I wasn't sure how much damage the poor shop could take. I'd begun to think there _wasn't_ a fucking stick of wood for me - and this was pretty alright, except, not to everyone else.

"Rosewood, thirteen and a half inches, peacock feather." Mr. Ollivander presented me the wand. Irritated, I snatched it from the old man's grasp, ready to break another piece of furniture. Maybe it would be the ceiling this time.

But a curious sensation crept up my arm - it was a funky, tingly feeling, like tiny ants were crawling on my skin. For a moment, I felt my blood turn warm, and I felt... fuzzy. Like a teddy bear. But nicer than how I said it.

"Go on," the wandmaker urged, clearly not feeling the frustrated exasperation I did.

"Here goes nothing," I mumbled, and swung arm.

Instantly, a ball of blue flame shot out from the tip, hovering in the center of the shop. For a moment, I thought it would burn everything down, and I'd be sent to jail for complete arson of the place. But jets of fire flew out and lit every candle in the room - and the sphere of blue landed on top of the wick of a candle by the counter, where it caught and swayed quite merrily with the breeze.

"Well," Mr. Ollivander smiled slightly. "You've got it."

"Finally," Blaise Zabini breathed, having been the victim of many of my destructive escapades ("Put the fucking fire out, you bloody lunatic! My robes!").

"That will be six galleons and ten sickles." The old man told me, putting the wand back in the box.

"Oh, um," I turned to Blaise, who raised a sharp eyebrow. "How much is that in dollars?"

"In _what_? How should I bloody know?"

"Well, do you have a money changer around here?"

"No, because I don't even know what that is," He replied testily. I frowned. "Didn't your parents give you any money?"

"Well I didn't exactly come in loaded with it in my pockets, did I?" I snapped hotly. I shoved my hand into my pocket, where I'd put in my coin purse. I could fish out a fifty, but I don't think these people even know that dollars exist.

"I've got a twenty in here, do you think-" I felt around for my bills, but none seemed to come in contact with my fingers. All I had in here were cents of various sizes - weighing down the cloth of the purse until it was ready to rip. "I don't think I have enough, I might be kind of short..." And I emptied out the coin purse, letting them roll onto the counter.

But they didn't come out in pennies or nickels or quarts. They fell out as funny looking coins, in shiny golds, silvers, and bronzes. I stared in amazement as they littered on the surface, making a small hill of metal.

"Sorry, I don't think that's the right coin purse." I said nervously. But Mr. Ollivander merely singled out six golds and ten silvers, dropping them onto his shaking hands.

"This will be enough. Good day, Ms. Asher." He said quietly, then retreated into his storage room. I continued to stare at the money, as if they would disappear any moment I blinked, until Blaise snatched my purse and swept them into it with his hand.

"Something's wrong with you," He concluded, handing me the pouch.

"Got that right."

* * *

It was almost eleven thirty when we arrived back at the castle. I was famished, dying of thirst. Throughout the day, we'd purchased the required books, a funny looking pot that Blaise described as a cauldron, robes and uniforms, and even an owl.

("What do I have to buy a stinking owl for?" I'd asked, wrinkling my nose at the smell of the birds as we walked in the shop.

"Every student wants an owl. Dead useful - better than a bloody toad, that's for sure." He'd snickered. "It's for post, of course. Don't you use them?"

"No, because we have internet."

"What's that?")

Now, we'd arrived back at the main entrance of the castle, and I balanced my books in my arm - Blaise, being the absolute gentleman he truly was, didn't offer to help me carry them at all.

"Right, well, it was absolutely splendid hanging around with you, Asher. Good bonding time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." He grinned cheekily at me, opening the doors. "D'you think you can manage?"

"It's not like I haven't been managing all this time," I replied dryly.

"Excellent. See you later, then." He winked, then hurried into the castle, the tail of his robes whipping behind him. Sighing, I tightened my grip on the books, the small cauldron and the bag of clothes dangling off my elbows, and the cage of my new, noisy owl looped through my forefinger. I took baby steps, inching towards the staircase. My feet shuffled along the cold stone, and I took each stair with great caution, trying my best not to fall.

But it was unavoidable, trying to sneak around without making an idiot of myself.

And an idiot of myself did I make.

I wasn't exactly sure what I'd tripped on, but I did - my feet tangled themselves and I fell, headfirst, onto the hard floor. My books crashed to the ground, and the cage smashed onto the stone, rolling away to the wall, where my pet screeched in hatred for me. But that wasn't the worst part.

Because it wouldn't have mattered if no one had heard - I could have just picked my stuff up and walked away, pretending like nothing happened. But it was a different story if I got caught, tripping on stairs in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.

"Oi! What's happening here?"

I gathered my books to my chest, trying my best to make it seem like I hadn't simulated a warzone - but it was too late, as the footsteps grew closer, and stopped, right in front of me.

In complete shame, I looked up into the cold grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**Author's Note: I need a boost! Whoever reads, please send me some love and thoughts from you. I would like to know what you think, truly. Any suggestions are welcome.**

**Reviews, please?**

**Love! :)**


	5. Confrontation

"What's all this?" Draco demanded, arching a blonde eyebrow. I shook my head, righting the cage of the owl, which glared at me with a sort of venom I didn't even know animals could have - it screeched once at me, really meanly, then turned its feathery behind to me.

Bitch bird.

"Sorry - it's just... All this stuff and - I meant to... Do you think you could lend me a hand?" Ifinally blurted out. Ah, perfect. Because that came out _exactly_ the way I'd wanted it to.

The boy looked haughtily down at me, like I was something nasty at the bottom of his shoe. Unable to face the embarrassment, I said, "Never mind," and continued gathering all my things into my arms.

But I heard a soft shuffle, and a heavy sigh, and I found Draco Malfoy on his knees, quickly piling my books and carrying them up effortlessly. He grabbed the cage of the owl, which hooted slightly - evidently it preferred this guy to its annoying and stupid master.

Well, sorry, owl, but I never owned one of you before, so just chill the fuck out, okay? Jesus. Who put shit in your pellets?

"Come on, then," He said crossly, and began walking ahead of me. Sliding the strings of the bags up my arm, I followed, walking like a deranged penguin.

"Thanks for the help," I said. He didn't answer, merely trod on with a sour expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

"You're lucky that it was me, and not some snooty Gryffindor prefect that caught you blundering about, new girl," He snapped, rolling his eyes. "Otherwise, we'd be done for. D'you know how many points that Weasley would deck out of sheer spite?"

"No," I said honestly.

"A lot. I know you're new here, but you could at least pretend like you know something."

Yes, because, really, like that worked out so well for me before, huh?

"Okay. Sorry, then." I mumbled.

"You're a Slytherin - and as such, you should be concerned with our winning the House Cup, not ruining our chances. We have a name to uphold, you know." He chastised relentlessly, shaking back his sleeves to better hold my things.

"Okay. Sorry." I said, a little more annoyed now.

"It's bad enough that we can't-"

"Okay, I get it, you guys are too awesome, I'm shitting it up, thanks for the information. Don't worry; I'm not as slow as you think, but thanks. Good to know." I burst out in my irritation. "While you guys have a great old party up in that common room of yours, I'll be waiting for my next ride back home, which is - oh, sorry, _never_."

Okay, I'd said too much. Oh, well. Can't take that back.

Draco Malfoy regarded me with some appalled curiosity, and a bit of haughtiness. Finally, he said, "Okay. Good to know."

Silence fell upon my ears - only the constant thump of our feet broke the monotony.

"Sorry," I muttered, killing my stupid pride.

"Alright," He replied, deadpan.

"Cool tattoo," I said, trying to change the topic from the awful outburst I had. I pointed to it with my elbow - it was on his left forearm, shining black on his pale skin. A grotesque sort of face glared back at me, with a peculiar twisting rope spilling out of its mouth. With a shudder, I realized that it was a great serpent. "It's, um, well. Hardcore."

He looked down at where I indicated, and suddenly shook down his sleeve, covering it. While he said nothing, I thought I saw, even for a moment, his cheeks turn pink.

We arrived at the common room, and as soon as we entered, Draco dropped my things onto the couch, and then began to stalk away.

"Thanks," I called out to his retreating back.

He turned to me slowly, suspiciously. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"Then what is it?"

"Blake. Blake Asher."

For a moment, I thought he was going to ask me about whether or not I was a pureblood or something. But, instead, he said, "You better keep your ass out of trouble, Asher. I won't always be there to save it."

"I'll keep it in mind, thanks." I said coolly.

He nodded, then swept up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, disappearing. I heard the door shut. Sighing, I trudged up the stairs, all my stuff in tow (the cage banged against the wall, much to my bird's anger). I entered the girl's dorm, greeted by the sight of many of the students fixing up for bed - Daphne Greengrass had already gone.

"Blake! Got all your stuff, then?" Astoria Greengrass asked, smiling.

"Yeah, most of it, I think." I shrugged, heaving my things into the big box at my bed's foot. They fell with a heavy thud.

"Cool. Hey, is that an owl?"

"Yeah. Annoying little creature." I frowned at it - the big eyes narrowed into threatening slits.

Don't get smart with me, feather-ass. I'll roast you - I swear to God, I'll do it.

"Have you named it yet?" Astoria reached out, poking her finger into the cage. The owl stepped back apprehensively, and the girl retreated her finger, looking disappointed. "I think you should call it... Leslie."

"Leslie's a girl's name." I frowned. "Its a dude."

"Leslie can be a guy's name too!" She pouted, pleading. "Come on, I think it matches."

"Okay, whatever." I agreed tiredly, pulling my hair down. At that precise moment, Pansy Parkinson came out of the washroom, brushing out her long hair.

"And where've you been?" She demanded, frowning. "Curfew was two hours ago!"

"Shopping." I replied simply, turning my back to her.

"What on earth for?" Without permission, she began sifting through my bags, my books - even picking up my new wand, which I snatched back from her grip. "And how'd you get all this stuff up, exactly?"

"Oh, I did some complicated voodoo and it just appeared here." I rolled my eyes. "Draco Malfoy helped me."

Astoria's eyes widened - Pansy Parkinson's narrowed to thin lines. "Did you say... _Draco_ _Malfoy_?"

"I think so."

"You mean, _my_ Draco Malfoy."

"Uh. Well, I didn't see a price tag, but okay, yeah, sure. That one."

"What exactly were you doing with Draco?" She hissed, looking like she was almost ready to devour my skin.

"I didn't do anything with him." I snapped, although this was, in some weird way, really amusing. "I tripped and he heard me crash to the ground, and thought it would be funny to come and see who'd made a fool of themselves this time. Okay?"

"Don't get smart with me." She growled. "Prefect patrol ended almost an hour ago. You're lying."

"Okay, well, sorry. But I'm just laying out the facts here. Maybe your boyfriend's busy making out with some other chick." I shrugged nonchalantly. "But whatever's going on in paradise is none of my business, so - _goodnight_."

And I turned on my heel and stomped into the bathroom, leaving behind a very furious Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

It was Astoria's alarm that woke me up the following morning – annoying little thing, screeching about lateness and being a rotten egg.

Put a sock in it, clock.

"Rise and _shine_! Get up, get up! Don't want to be late for your very important date – you might break a leg, or become a rotten egg! Rise and _shi-"_

"Astoria!" I yelled, sitting upright. "Snooze the fucking thing already!"

"Okay," She said sleepily, rolling over to smack it to silence. She missed the first couple of times, when it dodged her palm, but she managed in the end, slapping it to snooze. Girls began to groan in disgruntlement – clearly, the clock wasn't the most popular piece of furniture in the dormitory.

"Oh, Blake, I got your schedule from Snape yesterday." Astoria rummaged through her book bag, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to me. "Here you go."

I began to read it aloud. "_Dear Astoria – I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I was wondering, would you like to –_ hey!" I exclaimed as she snatched the paper from my hands. Her face turned beet red.

"That's… That's not your schedule. Sorry." She muttered, delving into her bag once again.

"Yeah, I'd rather have that than my schedule though." I smirked.

"Shut it," She breathed, then handed me another sheet, this one slightly smaller. "That's the right one, I'm sure of it."

I scanned my eyes across the sheet, imprinting it silently in my head. On top was my name, written neatly by hand – _Asher, Brianna Leighton Katherine P._

"What's Potions?" I muttered, frowning. _First Period – Potions c/o Prof. Slughorn_.

_Slughorn_? These people really have to straighten out their names.

"Potions, you brew concoctions, all kinds of magical drinks and substances." Astoria replied, pulling out her uniforms. "Don't you have that?"

"We have, uh, Home Economics, does that count?"

"What's that?" She wondered. I shook my head, and she disappeared into the bathroom without another question.

I came out of the dormitory, pulling down my skirt – the disgustingly grey, pleated thing was horrendous, not to mention a bit itchy on my ass. I was so busy trying not to tear it apart that I nearly rammed myself headfirst into Pansy Parkinson's stomach.

"Watch it!" She shrieked, and I straightened up immediately. "Oh, it's you, Asher."

"Yeah. Sorry." I said, and made to walk away as quickly as I could – but she grabbed my arm with an amazing feat of strength.

"Wait. Walk with me."

"Sure."

Side by side, we exited the common room – me, feeling really awkward and strange, and her, looking as haughty and proud as always.

"Listen, Asher. This is really difficult for me to say, so you must know I mean it – and I'm only going to say it once, mind you." She breathed deep, like she was going to dive into the fucking Bermuda Triangle. "I'm sorry."

Wow. I'd expected something more spectacular, like, "I have a sixth toe," or "I actually don't know my gender preference," or something cooler, like, "I know you're from the year 2010 and I know you have no shitting clue what's going on here, and I know that you need a way back home, and I've found it for you. Hurrah!"

But the "I'm sorry," just made it slightly… How to put it? Anticlimactic. Like, _pffft_. That's exactly how my expression went. _Pfffft_.

"Oh, okay. Well… Apology accepted for, uh, whatever it was." I said lamely. She pretended like she hadn't heard me.

"Draco Malfoy and I – we have a thing, you might say. He – well, we've been together for so long. And although he doesn't show _necessary_ interest in me becoming his _significant other_, I know he'll come round. I mean, he's dropped hints and all, but he's been so preoccupied with school and, er – other tasks, that he hasn't had the time to rethink our relationship. The one we may or may not have… Now." She concluded breathily.

"So," I tried to sum this all up. "Basically you're saying you're lusting for a dude who doesn't know if he's your boyfriend or not."

Well, with all the ranting, I was lucky I'd gotten a bit of _anything_ to be honest. Give a girl a break, okay?

"Wow, yes. Exactly." She looked relieved that she didn't need to explain it over – I don't blame her, it hardly made sense. "D'you see where I'm getting at here, Ash- I mean, Blake? Draco Malfoy is the only man for me. You understand that, don't you?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"And you understand why I had to snap at you yesterday, right?"

"Sure."

"Excellent. Glad I got that out of my chest." She sighed, flipping her hair to the side. "And I'd really like to – how do I say this – start over, Asher. I don't want you to think I'm some crazy, obsessed girl or whatever. I'm just, well, me."

Too late.

"Sure, Pansy. Why not." I said, shaking my head slightly. She didn't seem to notice, much, however, and even smiled at me as we entered what looked like a medieval torture chamber, minus the axe and the chopping board. All around were shelves and cabinets; the visible ones stacked high with jars and small boxes labeled things like "frog's tongue" and "eye of newt".

"That's not… really an eye, is it?" I asked, peering into the jar.

"Well, what did you expect? Plastic?" Pansy giggled and walked ahead. I scurried away from the cabinets, my hand over my mouth in case something unwanted decided to make an untimely appearance.

"Settle down, class!" A man walked into the room from the storage door. Well, walked was a bit of a loose term – it was more of like, waddled, like a cute little penguin. Except this dude wasn't a "cute little penguin". He was like one of those things with weird fangs and gigantic bellies; the ones that roll around in the sun all day without doing anything but eating and shitting.

Oh, yeah, a walrus.

Like, I know it's really awful to make fun of someone's proportions, but this dude was like, I don't know, _pregnant_ or something. Either that or he had a really unnatural beer belly. Whatever it was, his tailor just couldn't make a jacket big enough for it to fit nicely in. I was so scared a button would actually pop and hit me in the eye that I literally took an apprehensive step back as he entered.

"To your seats, quickly please!" He ordered, clapping a fat hand.

"Is this seat taken, Draco?" I heard Pansy ask sweetly, sliding into the bench beside the cold blonde.

"Yeah, actually, Blaise –"

"Excellent. Don't mind if I do." And she began unpacking her things, setting them neatly onto the wood of the table. The girl really defined "desperate" in the dictionary.

A moment later, Blaise stepped into the class, and, upon noticing Pansy in his seat, stomped over to her. "Oi, Parkinson, move it. I was here first."

"Oh, don't be immature, Blaise." Pansy said dismissively. "Please. That is so seven years old."

"Get your arse off the bench – d'you want me to levitate you off it, then?"

"Please, Blaise, there are so many other seats you could use."

"Yeah, exactly! Those that you should have taken, instead of putting yourself down on an occupied one."

"Mr. Zabini, kindly take a seat – yes, any seat will do. How about the one near our newcomer? And what is your name, my dear?" The teacher asked kindly, as Blaise Zabini stormed over to the seat next to me, looking livid.

"Uh, I'm Blake Asher."

"Good to have you, Ms. Asher. Professor Dumbledore tells me you previously went to Waterbridge School. I'm certain that you have some experience with Potion Making?"

"Well – I don't really… I mean…" I spluttered, turning red.

"Course she does, top of the class, she was." Blaise put in, dropping his book down onto the table with a loud _bang_ that was ignored by most.

"Splendid! Then you'll have no trouble catching up – good, good." And he walked away, to a table where tiny pots – sorry, cauldrons – were bubbling, some merrily, some very sluggishly.

"_What,_" I demanded, turning to the boy beside me, "the _fuck_ did you say that for?"

"Chill out, Asher." He raised a nonchalant hand. "I thought you just needed an ego-boost. No need to thank me."

"_Thank you_?" I hissed, almost spitting with rage. "I should _strangle _you!"

A small silence ensued, and then a wide grin grew on his face. "Draco's right. You are crazy."

"I resent every word that comes from your mouth."

"_That new girl – Asher. Bloody mental, that one_," He said, in a deep, sort of mocking imitation of his friend.

"Leave me alone already." I couldn't help but mutter afterwards, "Christ."

"No need to address me as such, Asher – though I do appreciate your thoughts. You're right, I am rather godly." He said, praising himself.

"Get over yourself."

"Never."

* * *

"What do you think of Slughorn, then?" Blaise queried coolly as we exited the classroom – what I now recognized as a dungeon, much to my dismay. "Mad old dingbat, eh?"

"Thought you said Dumbledore had that spot already," I filled in weakly.

"Yeah, but they're like a trio, or something. Dumbledore, Slughorn and McGonagall. Batty old teachers, if you ask me," He rolled his eyes. "I swear Snape's the only sane one out of them all."

"Snape?" I wondered.

"Yeah, Snape. Head of our House, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – no? Well, you'll get to know him later." Blaise said dismissively, then added, "Looks like they've hit it off early in the year, haven't they?"

He gestured to a briskly walking golden head, beside which was a shorter dark-haired one. Draco and Pansy, side by side.

"I swear those two'll have like, seven hundred kids." He chortled. "Come on, Asher."

He gestured for me to follow him, and I meant to, but was stopped when someone called out my name.

"Blake!"

The relatively pleasant look on Blaise's face disappeared, twisting itself into a scowl.

"Step off, Potter." He sneered, as Harry Potter approached.

"Mind your own business, Zabini." Harry snapped angrily.

"You may be a class-one hero in Dumbledore's eyes, Potter – but you can't fool any of us. You're still a little loser," He took a step forward, looking threatening. "D'you still cry about your mummy and daddy, then, Potter? D'you miss them? Well, it's only a matter of time –"

"I didn't come here to talk with you, Zabini." Harry cut through him icily.

"Then why don't you move along? Go on to the boy's bathroom and have a good, long cry, Potter –"

"Why don't you stick it up your-"

"Uh, hey, Blaise? I think your girlfriend wants to talk to you." I suddenly interrupted. This wasn't true – the elusive Daphne Greengrass was nowhere in sight. Still, I thought it best to ease the onslaught of tension.

"Right. Soon as I'm done straightening out this git." Blaise spat through clenched teeth.

"She said it was urgent. Um, I'll follow in a bit." I added hastily. He raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged.

"Fine. Suit yourself." He mumbled. "Your funeral." And he left, leaving only a scathing look for Harry Potter.

"I take it things didn't go well in pre-school." I commented slowly.

"Take it you've got yourself mixed up in the wrong crowd," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "The Slytherins – they're a bad lot. All of them."

"I doubt you know them all."

"I've seen enough." He said, irked. "There isn't a single witch or wizard in Slytherin that hasn't gone wrong."

"What, like, crazy?"

"No, you know. _Evil_." He said quietly, like this was such a hush-hush thing. I couldn't stand it – I laughed.

"Evil? Really, Harry Potter – you're so nineteenth century."

"Suit yourself then," He frowned. "Just thought I'd warn you that your lot's a bad one. But since you're a Slytherin now, you'll not need my advice."

"Meaning?" I demanded.

"Meaning nothing. Have fun in Slytherin, Blake. Just remember what I told you." And he darted off, leaving behind a trail of confusion.

It took all my effort and unknown willpower not to scream out, "What the flying _fuck_?"

"Been friendly with Potter, have you?" A cold voice said from behind me.

"No, but what's it to you?" I said, turning to face Draco Malfoy. He shrugged, though his eyes were steely.

"Nothing. Just thought I'd let you know that Potter's an attention-seeking, self-centered little prat without anything better to do in life than knock points from his own house during his little adventures."

"I think I'm capable of making my own judgments, but thanks, I'll keep it in here." I tapped my temple with my forefinger. "Besides, what do you care? I thought you thought I was a raving lunatic."

Caught off-guard, he looked appalled. "Who told you that?"

"I stalk you." I answered airily. Having finished my to-do list of:

Watching two boys have a verbal spat with each other

Having a conversation with a weird dude that goes Confucius on me, and

Freaking someone out,

I decided it was best to leave it at that. So I did, walking away, leaving a confused Draco Malfoy behind, and feeling good that, for once, I wasn't the only one completely baffled by the turn of events.

* * *

**A.N. sorry for the wait - something cut in my phone line and we didn't have dial tone for days. It was like internet rehabilitation. Lmao.**

**But now it's back! Hoping to hear from you, as always!**

**With much love. :)**


	6. Amortenia

One thing I've found out about myself over the time I've been in this asylum of a school: I'm really, really, truly, honestly, doubtlessly, irrevocably _hopeless_ at magic.

Well, what did you expect? That I'd find out I was an expert at this whole wand-waving business, become top of the class, popular, and just suddenly fit right in? Yeah, I wish it happened that way, too. But, honestly, this is _my _bad luck we're considering here (exhibit A: getting hit by fucking lightning), plus the insanity of real life. So, getting this really nice, perfect situation thing is highly unlikely, no matter how cool that would have turned out.

Who am I kidding? It's complete bullshit.

But, in my defense, all this crap is a million times harder than it looks. For one, all your incantations are either in Latin, or in gibberish. Seriously? No offense, last time I checked, Latin was a dead language. How about we leave it that way?

And, for another, what's with all these shit classes? Back home, all I had was, like, physics, trigonometry, and English Literature. Now, I'm required to look through a crystal ball, turn a bird into a mirror, and touch a beetle eye.

Seriously. Let me die.

So I sat in potions with walrus dude raving on and on and on about the talent Harry Potter has in potions. How smart he is. How good of a student he is. How much of a role model he is. How he's exactly as talented as his dear old mum.

Yeah, I can kind of tell why the Slytherins hate him so much. No offense to his dead mom or anything.

We were sent off to brew some weird-ass concoction, which, I think, is called Amortenia. Supposedly, it's a love potion, which is really bogus in my opinion. Don't they have any more useful potions in stock? Perhaps, a _send-Blake-Asher's-ass-back-home_ potion?

I could really use one of those.

It's meant to smell according to what turns you on. Right now, mine's giving of the eye-watering scent of a spilled sharpie marker.

I'm not sure, but I think I'd done something wrong. Just, you know. A hunch.

"How're you holding up, Asher?" Blaise asked, as he dropped something that resembled rat shit into his cauldron. Immediately, it hissed and sizzled, and I began to inch away as large red sparks began shooting out. The boy beside me let out a highly audible curse.

"You be careful what you put in there, Zabini!" Slughorn the walrus teacher chortled, waving his wand. The tiny New Year's celebration in Blaise's cauldron ended abruptly. "You were meant to put in the rabbit's tongue first. Ah, yes, Miss Asher. How is your potion coming along, my dear?"

"Oh, well, fine. Great. Awesome." I gulped, quickly grabbing a jar of essence of some animal I've never heard of to make myself look busy.

'No trouble?"

"No! None at all! Thanks!" I nudged the table excitedly, and some of the contents of my seatmate's cauldron spilled onto the surface.

"Oi! Watch it, Asher!"

"Whoops! Stupid me! Well, gotta go clean that up!" I squeaked, then scurried to the cupboard. Pulling open the cabinet, I examined the shelves. There were some jars of cool shit – but most of it was, regrettably, a hoard of unpleasant, stomach wrenching ingredients. I tiptoed and grabbed a rag from the top shelf and hurried back to my place. Thankfully, Slughorn had passed. Blaise smirked at my folly.

"You're barking mad." He praised me as I mopped up the mess.

"Look, I have no effing idea what I'm doing, so just leave me alone!" I spat. Blaise shrugged and turned back to is work.

"Suit yourself, girl." He said nonchalantly.

I straightened up, tossing the rag across the table sloppily. Droplets of the potion spattered against the wood.

"You are making a complete mess of things, aren't you?" A voice drawled from the workbench in front of me. Draco Malfoy peered into my cauldron, and I reddened in my humiliation. Luckily, my voice seemed to follow my patter of thinking nicely, and I said, in my snootiest, most indignant voice:

"Mind your own business."

"Alright." He replied, irritatingly smug.

"Well, let's see yours, then, O high and mighty one." I snapped. He shrugged, took his ladle and scooped a tiny amount up. He held the potion out to me, eyebrows raised.

"Have a whiff, Asher." He said, deadpan. Hesitantly, I leaned in, letting the scent waft across my face.

It was the most peculiar, beautiful mix of mint and honey that hinted a small amount of the smell of dew on grass. Just sniffing it made my cheeks turn pinker. I looked up – he looked impatient, but curious as well. "So?"

"Smells okay." I mumbled, straightening up. He poured the contents back into his cauldron, a small, knowing smirk on his lips. "What's it like for you?"

"Like roses. That's all."

"Okay." Don't need three guesses – the heady scent of rose perfume still attacked my senses, as Pansy Parkinson whipped her head back in annoyance, her potion a bubbling mess. Draco said nothing more, and returned to his work.

"Yours smells like bogeys, Asher." Blaise commented sweetly, leaning over my cauldron with a strained smile.

"Fuck off." I shoved his head aside, and he laughed.

"And… Time's up! Stop stirring, please!" And the great walrus-professor began his usual round of inspection. I tried to ward off the foul odor coming off mine, but it refused to dissipate. At least he was kind enough to not comment as he passed over mine.

He gave Draco an approving nod, and a small smile in Hermione Granger's direction. However, we were already resigned to who would be the clear hero of the day.

"Splendid, Harry! By jove, you're a natural!" Slughorn praised, sounding like he'd actually faint.

Of course.

"Right! Papers on the effects and antidotes of Amortenia due tomorrow. Good day, everyone!"

I stuffed my book angrily into my bag, hearing the crunch of the pages as they folded into themselves. Genius.

"Miss Asher, a word please!" Slughorn called out jovially as the class filed out of the room. I saw Blaise salute me, mouthing _great hall_ before darting out of the classroom. With a heavy sigh, I walked to Slughorn, sitting at his desk with his great belly protruding like the rings of Saturn.

"Good, yes. Now, it seems to me that you've been having some trouble with our lessons, Miss Asher?" He raised an eyebrow, and I nodded shamefully. "So far, your grades have ranged from poor to below average, only managing to score a satisfactory potion… Once. Is there something wrong?"

"Well, sir, I-"

"Yes, I know. Coping with a new curriculum in such a short period of time must be really difficult, yes?"

Sure, curriculum. I'll head that direction.

"Not to worry, Miss Asher. Have you considered tutoring?"

"T-tutoring?" Ah, perfect. I am an official grade-A retard.

Slughorn nodded. I daresay a little help wouldn't hurt. How about Mr. Potter?" He suggested. "You could surely learn a lot from him."

"What? But, sir-"

"Oh, yes, yes. The house barriers. Yes, I am aware, Miss Asher. However, your grades are more important than a small spat between Gryffindors and Slytherins. You could keep it a secret, you know." And he winked, which was funny, odd, and creepy at the same time.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, you may go, Miss Asher."

He waved me away, and I hurried out the door to bolt to the Great Hall. It was difficult getting there, but I arrived in the end, huffing my shriveled lungs away. Students had already begun devouring their lunches.

"Asher!" Blaise's familiarly loud voice called out, and I saw his hand wave at me. I crossed over to the mile-long Slytherin table, plunking down beside him.

"So what did Slughorn want?" Pansy asked.

"Nothing. I just needed to know I was failing." I replied miserably. Her eyes widened into saucers.

"Well, you've certainly outdone yourself, haven't you?" Blaise chortled heartily. I shot him a death-implying glare that left him to be content in merely smirking at my idiocy.

"So what are you going to do?" Pansy pressed on.

"He says I should get a tutor."

"Perfect, looks like you've found yourself one already!" Blaise guffawed, so hard I wondered how much breath there was left in him. Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, yes, Blaise, because with your tiny brains, you're the absolute perfect tutor." She shot scathingly, wrinkling her nose.

"I take offense in that, woman!" He huffed, then shrugged. "But you're right, I s'pose. Don't worry, though, Asher – I bet Draco the Potion Prince will be more than happy to alleviate you of your cluelessness.

The boy in question, reading a book with some sort of unknown intensity, made no move to reply, or join in on the conversation.

"Slughorn thinks I should ask Harry Potter." I said carefully. A flurry of alarmed reaction followed my words.

"Potter!" Pansy hissed venomously. "Please! I'd rather you strangled yourself already."

"Saint _Potter_." Blaise agreed with fury. "The idiot was a class dunce in Potions last year. When did he get so smart?"

"What's up with Harry Potter?" I wondered. "He seems, I don't know. Okay?"

"_Okay?_" She shrieked, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. "Give me a break! Don't even think about being caught around Harry Potter unless you like the idea of a _noble death_."

"No, that's – I'm okay. Thanks." 

"Anyone who hangs out with Potter's bound to be either complete loser or a raving lunatic." Draco suddenly put in, shutting his book firmly. "But he isn't as noble as everyone thinks he is. Self-righteous prat."

"You seem to hate him a lot." I observed.

"I do." Draco said flatly, and the look in his eyes ordered me to turn away and merrily stuff my face.

"You're suddenly hungry." Blaise noticed as I shoveled food down my throat.

"Good stuff." I said thickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Draco Malfoy gather and pack his things, and swing his legs off the bench, standing up fluidly.

"Where are you going, Draco?" Pansy pouted unhappily.

"Out. See you." He replied shortly, and, without another word, walked briskly away, towards the entrance.

As he passed, the breeze that followed his trail brushed against my face ever so slightly, and I inhaled instinctively.

A hint of sweet mint burned my throat, even as I swallowed a mouthful.

* * *

"So, how was your day, Blake?" Astoria asked, rolling over on her bed to face me. I continued staring up at the high ceiling, my heart gloomy and heavy. It took me a while to answer.

"Fine."

"Doesn't sound like it was." She replied.

"It wasn't. I'm just lying because I don't want to talk about it." I sighed unhappily, rubbing my eye with a fierce sort of force.

"Oh, well. At least you were honest about it." She tried to reassure me. Not helpful, but thanks.

"I heard Slughorn called you out because you were failing Potions, is it true?" Daphne Greengrass asked me, running a brush through her long hair. I exhaled through my nose in annoyance.

"Yeah, it's true. I'd rather not talk about it, though, if you don't mind." I turned over to my side, fixing my eyes blankly on a spot on the wood of my four-poster bed. "And tell Blaise when you see him tonight to keep his mouth shut about other people's businesses, or I'll castrate him."

"Okay." She said, an odd look on her face. Honestly, these people aren't even aware of things like those? Christ. "I will."

"Great. Thanks." I fumed. I saw her walk over to the window of the dormitory, opening the pane to await her Prince Charming on a broomstick to come pick her up. The night breeze whipped into the dormitory, sending shivers down my skin.

Oh, and it brought something else with it, too.

"_Oh my God_!" Daphne shrieked, ducking down just in time as a mass of black came hurtling through the open window. It landed with a soft thud on the floor, sprawled across the rug. No one dared to move, fearing it would do something, like attack.

But it just unfurled itself, shaking out its crumpled wings – clearly, it was an owl, with big yellow eyes darting around the dormitory. Everyone let out a sigh of relief – except me. Because it hopped towards me, fluttering until it landed on the foot of my bed.

With some curiosity, it regarded me. I stared back at it, at a loss on what to do.

This went on for about five seconds.

"Well, are you just going to admire it, or are you going to get the letter, Blake?" Astoria asked, stifling a laugh. Right. There was an envelope in its beak, and it cocked its head towards me. Gingerly, I reached out for the letter, so ready to scream if it came and bit my finger off.

But I managed to keep all ten of them, and the owl hooted, taking flight and soaring out the open window as quickly as it came. I ran my hand along the smooth edge of the envelope. On the back was my name, _Blake_, written in a nice, loopy kind of handwriting.

"Who's it from?" Astoria cooed excitedly.

"I don't know." Carefully, I opened the envelope, and shook out the letter. It was a thin piece of parchment, and the same penmanship paragraphed itself on the page.

_Dearest Blake,_

_ We've just received word from Professor Dumbledore that you've arrived safely at your new school at Hogwarts. Hopefully, your travels were safe. We know that the environment is utterly different from Waterbridge – but we're confident that you'll fit in perfectly. The pocket money we'd given you before the trip there should be more than enough to purchase your textbooks, and that new wand you'd been harking about since that hippogriff smashed yours last term. If you find yourself needing more, don't hesitate to send us an owl._

_Furthermore, he's informed us that you've been sorted into Slytherin. We're so proud of you, Blake! We're sure you'll make new friends there, just as we had when we attended Hogwarts. _

_Concentrate on your studies, it will be hard coping with the change in curriculum. Just do your best, darling, and remember to keep sending us owls! We miss you already!_

_Have fun at school!_

_ Love,_

_ Mum and Dad_

I reread the letter. Once. Twice. Another time. It refused to enter my mind, already reeling with boggling questions. My mom and dad are totally aware of this bogus place. They are absolutely convinced that I belong here. They are not at home, in Florida, waiting for me to come home for dinner – rather, they are here, in fucking London, writing to me a letter about life in this school. The owl is the mailman.

I have no fucking idea what a hippogriff is.

"Blake?" Astoria snapped me out of my trance. "Who's it from? Is it from a boy?" She suddenly giggled.

"No, it's from my parents." I answered defensively. My mind-controlled, totally insane parents.

"Oh, what did they say?"

"That… they missed me. And to keep writing to them." I replied, stuffing the letter back into the envelope.

"That's sweet. Can I read?" She smiled at me. I held the letter close to my chest.

"No! I mean," I continued hurriedly as she looked taken aback. "I need to go… See Dumbledore, the Headmaster."

"Yes, I know who he is." She said, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah, well. I'm going there. See you in a while." I stood up, hurrying to the door and down the stairs, ignoring Astoria Greengrass as she called out, 'But it's past curfew!'.

I exited the portrait hole, running absently through the dim corridor. Yes, I'm going to see the Headmaster. I'm going to straighten out this crazy shit once and for all. I am going –

I have no idea where I'm going.

"Shit!" I cried in frustration, looking around at the stone walls that always look the same to me. Crap. This was like a different sort of hell. Might as well commit suicide now. I whipped my head around, biting the inside of my cheek. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I'm screwed. This is it.

"Oh my God. I need to die now." I groaned, settling my butt down on a step of one of the thousand staircases in this dumb school. Burying my face in my hands, I rubbed my eyes until stars appeared behind the darkness of my eyelids, not caring if a couple of stray tears rolled down my cheeks.

"You know, I'm not sure about this, but I hear that crying never makes things better." A cold voice said quietly. I raised my head slowly, blinking away the silver sparkles floating through the darkness.

"Yeah, well, whoever made that up is a dipshit." I snapped. Draco Malfoy emerged from a corridor, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Whoever made that up probably meant that you shouldn't be such a self-centered baby and just stop pitying yourself." He retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, what do you know!" I burst out angrily. "My life is fucked up. I need to go home. I have no fucking idea what I'm doing here, and you're not helping it at all! I need to go home-"

"Will you shut up and listen to yourself, Asher?" He cut through me, irritated. "You sound like a three year old! _I need to go home – _Christ, grow a spine!"

How could he know, how could _anyone _know the kind of deep shit I was standing in right now? I was literally flung into this situation without a single clue on what to do, and no guidebook happened to just drop out with me. This was so frustrating. I was so ready to kill someone already.

"If you don't want to hear me whining, then just leave already! No one asked you to stay out and have a slumber party with me! Goodnight!" I seethed.

"No, you have to come back and set your ass in bed or we'll get in a load of trouble, and everyone will want to eat you alive." He snapped.

"I don't care! Really, I don't! Just go away!" I made this weird, sort of fly-away hand gesture that probably made me look like some sort of retarded bird.

Giving up on me, Draco Malfoy shook his head and began to walk down the corridor to the common room. His back was a rigid pole, and what I could see of his expression was icy and a little infuriated. But he stopped, for a short moment, and spoke, not meeting my eye.

"You think you have problems?" He breathed, so softly I could have sworn it was just the wind. "You have no idea, Blake Asher."

And he disappeared, leaving me in the darkness; alone, just as I'd wanted.

* * *

**A.N.: Hey, guys! Sorry for the sort of late update. Term exams this week, I hardly made it onto my computer to type. But here it is, the latest "installment" (is it even proper that I use that word? Hurhur.), and I hope that you enjoy it.**

**Some Draco/Blake spats (CONSIDER IT PRELIMINARY ACTION BEBS.) here and there. Which, hopefully, will *blossom* into love and happiness and many pretty, blonde sexy babies. Mmmhm. **

**Hoping to hear from all of you! :) CLICK THAT REVIEW BUTTON! ;)**


	7. Dislike

Although the awkward previous encounter with Draco was never mentioned again, sitting at the Slytherin table with the great crowd of three had a form of tension that could hardly be lifted. Even if I insisted I had other more important things to do (which, by the way, is the biggest lie ever. As if I had so much business around this place to have _important things to do._ Christ.), Blaise always trooped me over to sit in the company of him and his friends, one in particular, which I could hardly meet the eye of.

But it never mattered, really. Even though a billion people (and, I'm sure, there are about that much students here) talked about him like he was either the son of Zeus Almighty or the spawn of Satan himself, none of his alleged alter egos tried to make a surface appearance.

But, yeah, he was kind of bitchy. I hardly think that classifies as condemnable though – I'm like that when I'm on my period.

Sometimes even out of my period, really.

Okay, fine. Kind of often.

Anyway, the limited amount of conversation we shared was reduced to an "almost nothing" stage, where it'd be something along the lines of, "thanks," when something was handed over, or "excuse me," when one was blocking the way of the other, or "sorry," when there was a sort of unexplainable (yet surprisingly common) accident.

One particular day saw me hopping down the stairs of the dormitory, pulling on my school shoe while trying to keep my bag from slipping off my shoulder. I was in a hurry, being late for my first class of History of Magic. I hardly had any time to register how completely screwed over I looked, only focusing on how completely screwed over I'd be if I were late to the only class I was doing well in.

Yes, sidenote. In my defense, History is the only subject I get because all you have to do is memorize a bunch of useless dates and keep taking down notes. There's no skill involved, which makes it a relief for me. At least I don't have to teleport myself into the past or something. Besides, it's basically like social studies. But a lot weirder, because there's a translucent man lecturing in front.

Anyway, I was busy trying to be an acrobat, hurrying for what my life was worth out of the common room. I yanked open the portrait hole – just as someone came right through, as it came swinging round my general direction with a sort of power that knocked the wind out of my lungs.

"Shit!" I gasped, stumbling backwards. I tripped on the annoyingly long hem of my stupid robes (seriously. Why do I have to wear a tacky black robe around like a mental patient looking for the bathroom? What were these people on?).

An arm flashed out and caught my wrist, saving me from the painful and excruciatingly long death I'd suffer if I'd fallen back on my ass and cracked my skull open against the wall. The grip was kind of tight, and I felt like my blood circulation just sort of seized up around that general area.

Draco Malfoy looked down at me with a sort of disapproving glance, like a father mentally chastising a child for stepping on his foot.

Oh, thanks, Universe. You just seriously fried my ass this morning.

"Sorry!" I squeaked, righting myself. He immediately released his hold, like I'd electrocuted him, and I felt the rush of blood greet my numb fingers. "Sorry! Didn't see you there-"

"Excuse me," He said curtly, and swept past me with an expression of haughtiness, climbing the steps to the boy's dormitory. I heard the door shut a few moments later.

"Tough luck, friend." Blaise Zabini, left by his best friend, drawled. "Where're you headed off to in such a hurry, hmmm?"

"History of Magic. Excuse me…" I made to run past him, but his nails dug deep into my shoulders, and I stopped, wincing with silent pain.

"You mean, free period, right?"

"No, I just told you, I have a class-"

"Yeah, I heard you, Asher. Contrary to your opinions, I'm not lacking half my brain." He sighed. "History of Magic. What a useless piece of shit. Come on, walk with me."

"Seriously. I have to go." I pried his fingers off my skin. "Do you want me to miss the only class I'm doing well in?"

"Doing well in?" He asked, appalled. "Are you barking? The mudblood Granger's the only one who does well in that crap subject!"

"Well, I think it's cool, especially because I'm not failing." I replied, wondering inside what a mudblood was.

"You're fucking weird." He stated, in a voice that said this was the true definition of my being. "Well, skip out on it one time. You can always just ask someone for the lesson later."

"Ask? You mean, bully." I answered pointedly.

"Ask, bully, what's the difference? Are you coming or not?" He raised an eyebrow. I hesitated for a moment.

Fuck, what the hell.

"Yeah, okay." I agreed. He grinned.

"Excellent. Come on, follow me." He beckoned, and began to stride purposefully ahead. Feeling like a spy (by the way, the feeling is thrilling and damn awesome), I treaded quietly after him, making sure my eyes were glued eternally on his sleek head of black-blue hair.

"Blaise, where are we going?" I asked, trying not to look to guilty as the counter flow of students pushed against my shoulders.

"Nowhere. Anywhere. Everywhere. We can go to the girls' bathroom, if you like." He smirked wickedly.

"No, thanks. Why such perverted thoughts?"

"Ah, you know men. Controlled by urges they have no authority over."

"Most guys around here seem to be doing fine." I pointed out, shaking my head. He scoffed with an air of superiority.

"Most guys here are as attractive as Gregory Goyle's arse."

"Some guys aren't so bad." I said, shuddering to think what Gregory Goyle's ass looked like. "You don't have to be such an assbite about it."

"Oh, yeah?" Blaise regarded me with a curious look. "I thought British guys weren't your speed?"

"Any kind of guy from any part of the world can be a complete jerk. And that's not my speed." I answered. "But to say I don't like British people is branding me as a racist."

"A racist? Hardly, Asher. You're the only American within a hundred miles from here. I'd say you're at a clear disadvantage." He chuckled, and I scowled. Right, please rub it in my face that I don't belong here. "So what is your speed? Types like, I don't know, Harry Potter?"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, as he wrinkled his nose.

"Just saying that many girls round here find Harry Potter attractive. Though why that is the case, I haven't a clue."

"Maybe because he's a good person. Or because he's… What's the word?" I snapped my fingers. "Noble."

"So you fancy him, then?" He frowned, deep lines forming across his easygoing features.

"Uh. No." I answered flatly. "That's kind of… Weird."

"Is it why you want him to tutor you in Potions?"

"No. I don't want him to tutor me in anything, that's so embarrassing!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, it is. Imagine, spending time with Saint Potter."

Okay, no. I was sort of going along the lines of, _it's embarrassing to be tutored in anything, by anyone._ But obviously he didn't catch on.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to Draco. Maybe he could fix your grades a bit. Believe it or not, he's a good student." He added when he caught my expression, mistaking my look of horror as an expression of disbelief.

No, don't talk to _Draco_. Christ, the dude could cut a bitch with a look.

"No, I'd rather you don't intrude into things like that." I retorted hotly.

"It's not intruding! Unless," He cocked an eyebrow. "You really want Potter to tutor you."

"I don't!" I yelled.

"Then it's settled! Christ, get your blood pressure tested, girl!" He rolled his eyes. I was about to protest about my perfect health, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me out the doors of the entrance hall, where we were greeted by the cool breeze of the mid – November season. "You know, I'd be scared for you, Asher, if you fancied Potter."

"Why?"

"Because most people who do fancy him end up either dead or raving mad." He replied with an unfeeling sort of voice that didn't suit the topic of discussion. "I'd much rather you had a go at, I don't know, someone as perfectly desirable as me."

"_Why,_" I breathed out, as he dragged me across the courtyard. "Would I have a go at someone as repulsively egotistic as you?"

"Come off it, Asher, I was just joking," He snickered. "'Sides, I'm sure at one point in the time you've known me, you've found me more than –"

"Okay, end of this topic. Thank you," I wrestled free from his hold, casting him a sort of annoyed, uncomfortable look.

"Ah, it's a beautiful day outside, isn't it?" He observed, lifting his head up to the sky. I followed his gaze – the clouds were an ominous mass of gray, and the atmosphere was cold and threatening a downpour of sorts.

"Yeah. Lovely." I replied dryly.

"Wonderful," He mused. "Tell me something, Asher."

"Depends on how disgusting the question is."

"What's with all the sexual tension between you and our darling Draco recently?"

"All the _what_?" I jammed my pinky in my ear and pulled it out, making sure there was a loud _pop_ before I spoke again. "I don't think I heard you right."

"Oh, you heard me perfectly well, Miss America. Something happen between you two that you're not sharing?" He continued on, without so much of a hint that we were conversing on anything more than the present weather.

"No."

"Nothing that could disturb the peace of our current friendship and the state of Pansy Parkinson's on-edge sanity?"

"Nothing, seriously. Look, I know squat about the dude. Maybe it's just not the same with you two, having slumber parties every night and sharing all your manly secrets while treating your beautiful hair with products unknown to mankind." I replied irritably.

"Really. Funnily enough, I feel like he doesn't like you either."

"Thank you for your tactful input, Zabini." I snapped, flushing red.

"You know what?" He tapped his finger on his chin in mock thoughtfulness as we walked on. "I think you're shaping up to be a fine Slytherin."

I didn't comment on this – perhaps this was a compliment, but the word _evil_ from my last conversation with Harry Potter started a movie marquee in my head. No matter how stupid it was, I still couldn't help feeling like all these people were quite similar – cunning, secretive, and dead good-looking.

Kind of annoying, actually.

But Blaise seemed to think nothing of what he'd said. Maybe this was the gold star he thought he was handing over to me, finally done being initiated into the secret circle. He grinned and ran a thin hand through his hair, looking uncaring.

"So, do you really think my hair is beautiful?"

* * *

Small observation: Slytherins had a good number of classes with Gryffindors. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because teachers wanted to bridge the gap that was caused about a hundred years ago (it pays to listen in History of Magic, guys) or something. The point was, my day wouldn't be complete if there weren't that daily dose of heavy animosity between the two houses in class.

Finishing Transfiguration Class, (another of the many classes I seemed to be failing miserably at) I began to pack my books with a sour expression on my face. The atmosphere darkened considerably when a tall, thin figure cast a shadow upon me.

"Blake," Harry Potter's voice whispered from above my head. I looked up and frowned.

"What?" I hissed.

"Let's talk, alright?" He said, clearly miffed as well.

"Look, what's your problem?" I snapped, annoyed. "We're not supposed to be sharing conversations on a regular basis. What are we, friends?"

"What? What's _your_ problem?" He replied crossly. "It's not my fault your messing up here!"

"So what do you care? What do you want?" I shot back exasperatedly. "Do you need to get laid, or something, is that it? Are you lonely? I'm sure you have a lot of takers somewhere out there, so, if you'll excuse me-"

"Will you shut up, Asher?" He spat, turning a bright shade of red. "This isn't anything like that! Slughorn talked to me, asked me to tutor you, so I just came here to talk about it."

I scowled. Stupid, meddling fat man.

"Well, you can go back and tell Slughorn that I don't need his star student to tutor me anymore. I've got my own, thanks." I swung my bag onto my shoulder so grandly it rocked backwards and hit me painfully in the ass. I had to keep myself from wincing.

"Yeah?" He said, struggling to keep his curiosity at bay behind his façade of irritation. "Who?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Whoops, I wasn't sure about that. Actually, I was pretty sure I just flat out lied. Draco Malfoy would never tutor me even if I threatened to cut off his – yeah. No, I don't think it was going to happen. Still, it was nice to see that I'd stumped Harry Potter.

"Draco Malfoy?" He muttered to himself, and then seemed to realize I still existed. "Oh, well, okay. Fine. Good luck with that."

"Thanks, dude." I clapped him on the shoulder. He stumbled a bit. Oops.

"Wait, Blake. Listen. About the Slytherins-" He said, a warning tone taking over his voice.

"Yes, I know, they're evil and I will surely become part of the mafia that will cause a mass murder in the United Kingdom. Thanks for the heads up, Cassandra." I cut through him angrily. "But I don't want to be part of your little life-threatening escapades either, so thanks, but no thanks. You stick to being noble, and I'll stick to trying to get out of this fucked up place."

The expression on Harry Potter's face was one of fury and confusion – the latter probably wondering why I'd addressed him as Cassandra.

"No one asked you to." He said, finally overcoming his conflicting emotions. "Just thought someone should tell you to watch your back."

"Yes, I'm sure when I get back to the common room, I'll have a look-see if Blaise has a dagger with my name pinned on it under his pillow."

"Blaise Zabini is a player." He snapped. "You can't trust anything he says."

"Yeah, when was the last time you had a decent conversation with the boy? You know, the kind that doesn't have swearing and life-threatening sentences in them?" I retaliated. "Just stop talking to me already, okay? Go on with your noble life, and I'll go on with my undercover one."

I stomped out of the room, leaving behind an affronted Harry Potter. But immediately after exiting dramatically, someone caught my arm and pulled me aside. I yelped – it was Blaise, with a big grin across his face.

"You're excellent, Asher. I should really commend you."

"What are you talking about?" I gasped, my heart thumping in my chest.

"The way you got to Potter. Priceless. You're a natural." He chuckled. "I particularly liked the one when you said something about checking under my pillow. You're good at this."

"Well, what else was I supposed to say?" I shook his fingers off me. There was a loud creaking sound – both our heads turned to see Harry Potter exiting the classroom, looking pissed as hell. He stalked down the corridor without even a glance at us.

"You're making enemies with all the right people!" Blaise laughed, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. "I'm proud of you. Well, except Draco, you should probably get him on your side."

"Oh, yeah. Oh, wait, no!" I bit my lip. "I told Potter-"

"Yeah, I heard. Lucky for you, this awesome man swung through." He jerked a thumb to his own chest – I rolled my eyes. "Talked to Draco. He said he'd give it a go. But I have to be honest with you, Asher, he wasn't too happy about it. Said he had better things to do with his time. Really makes me wonder what you did to him."

"I told you already, I didn't do anything!" I stamped my foot.

"Okay, okay! Christ, keep your wig on." He beckoned me to walk with him, and we continued on the path to the Great Hall for lunch. "Listen, you'll be starting tonight, seven o'clock. Don't be late. Draco's coming from Quidditch practice-"

"What's Quidditch?"

"And he doesn't – _did you just say' what's Quidditch'_?" He bellowed, appalled.

"Well… Yeah." I reddened. He looked down at me with a look that could have easily killed me.

"What_ planet_ have you been _living on_?"

"Well, we don't have it in America." I replied, feeling indignant on my part.

"Quidditch," Blaise breathed out, still trying to calm down, "is only the most well-known magical sport on the face of the earth."

"Right. And what do you do?"

"Oh my God." He exhaled, shaking his head. "I have no time for this. Ask Draco."

No, I will _not ask **Draco**_. Seriously. I'd rather gut a pig.

"He'll be coming from practice, so don't dawdle. He'll probably be tired, and, hence, in a foul mood."

"Foul mood? Great." I looked at Blaise curiously. "You seem to know inches of his life in great detail."

"Malfoy's been my friend since childhood. Course I do." He waved the discussion away dismissively. "Be at the library at seven sharp. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_Six forty-five_. I could really waste time. Like I was really trying to be late.

I skidded across the hall, my shoes making this weird squealing sound across the stones as I slid. Shit. Which way was the library again?

Man, way to bump up my bad impression.

My robes fluttered behind me, like this weird, annoying black cape, dancing around my ankles. My hair whipped against my face. I had no idea where I was going. I passed through a large field, the wind whooshing through my ears.

"Cut it short, Malfoy! The wind's a bitch, we'll be caught in a storm this way!" Someone yelled over the howling of the wind.

_Malfoy_? I peered up into the dark sky, squinting for all my life was worth.

Oh, this was Quidditch.

Above me were seven green streaks, shooting through the air on (yes, you guessed it) broomsticks. There was a great red blob, perhaps a ball, being passed quickly through each of the players' grasps. Three immensely tall hoops towered, casting long, thin shadows on the grass I stood on.

"Fine!" I heard someone call out. "Practice is over! I need to be somewhere, anyway."

Quickly, each person began to descend, falling around seventy feet in around five seconds. Neatly, the team of seven landed on the ground, grinning.

"Good practice, everyone." One girl said, smirking. She was short, and quite petite in form. "For sure we'll beat Gryffindor to a pulp. Don't you agree, Draco?"

"Absolutely." Draco said absently. I realized he'd just noticed I was standing stiffly at the edge of the field. "See you later, guys."

A low chorus of, "Later," and "See you, Malfoy," rang through the air as he detached himself from the group and strode off the field. His hand gripped his sleek broomstick tightly.

"What're you doing here, Asher?" He asked, not looking at me – instead, he busied himself in stripping off the protective gear around his arms and shins.

"Well, I was on my way to the library, and I realized I didn't know how to get there-"

"Save it. I don't really care."

"Okay." I crossed my arms across my chest. "Someone needs his teddy bear."

"Look, Asher," He snapped, straightening up. "I don't really fancy tutoring people much. Especially not you. So don't get smart with me, because I'm the one doing you a huge favor."

"No one asked you to!" I shot back.

"I'm doing this as per Blaise's request, alright? If he hadn't honestly asked, you would be swimming in deep shit, failing your ass off." He tossed the gear aside irritably. "So do yourself a favor and just listen to what I say, or get Potter to tutor you."

Jesus, this guy sounded like I just circumcised him. "Fine."

"Fine, what? You'll ask Potter to tutor you?"

"No, I'll listen to what you say. Unless you prefer Potter tutoring me, just say so. I've no problem with it." Another lie. Yes, I had a problem with it.

He looked at me for the first time. His eyes fell on my book bag, hanging off my shoulder. "D'you have your potions book there, then?"

"Yes."

"Good. God forbid you'd be an idiot to forget. Let's go."

* * *

"You're hopeless."

Oh, God. I was so close to tears already. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And the fact that his disdain seemed to drip from his lips every time he spoke really pushed my buttons.

We sat in the farthest corner of the library, because, he explained, he didn't want people seeing him tutor an idiot like me. Upon settling down, he'd positioned himself across me, and pushed a book in front of me, the page opened to something that read "Properties and Uses of Fluxweed". He then instructed me to read.

That was it.

"For your information, Fluxweed is popularly used to make the Polyjuice Potion." He said shortly. "What does the Polyjuice Potion do?"

Christ, what _was _a Polyjuice Potion? "Uh, does it have something to do with unnaturally ending people's lives?"

"When brewed properly, the Polyjuice Potion can transform the drinker into another person, provided that he acquire the right amount of DNA from the latter. What kind of DNA is needed for this?"

"Uh, I don't know. Saliva?"

"Hair. Christ, Asher. Are you retarded?" He snapped the book shut loudly, and I jumped. "I don't have time for this. You're impossible."

"I don't know what we're talking about!" I cried, frustrated. "I don't get any of this shit!"

"That much is evident!" He exclaimed, rubbing his face sharply. "Forget it. I'm through with this. It's not worth it."

"What?" I watched helplessly as he stood up, angrily stuffing his quill and parchment into his bag. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed the potions book to me. It slid and stopped in front of my torso.

"I'm going. I can't handle teaching someone like you. Find yourself another tutor, Asher. See you." He pushed the chair with a deafening screech, and stalked out of the library.

I stared at the shiny cover of my textbook with resentment. That was it? Two stupid hours of me not getting what in the world he was rambling on about, and he was dropping it? Talk about fortitude.

Angrily, I dropped my books into my bag, where they made a loud _thud_ as they fell to the bottom and hit the desk I balanced the bag on. I hitched it upon my shoulder, and made to walk out – but someone stepped in front of me, smirking.

"Oh, God, Blaise, please don't tell me you were sitting there the entire time."

"Alright, I wasn't. Just for the most part." He shrugged. "But, from what I gather, things didn't go well."

"Oh, no, things went splendidly." I replied sarcastically. "Really. I'll be top of the class from now on."

"He must really hate you, or something." Blaise mused. "But don't take it personally, he's usually snarky to everyone he doesn't like. You don't have to feel out of place, or anything."

"Don't take it personally?" I echoed. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hey," He said cheerfully, in some sort of attempt to assure me, "At least he doesn't hate you like he hates Potter."

I glared at him, my mouth forming into a thin line. Without anything to say, I stomped out of the library furiously. I heard his footsteps follow me.

"What? What did I say?"

* * *

**A.N.: Unlike Draco and Blake, let's not foster sexual tension, and communicate. xD**

**REVIEW! 3333**

**Aimee**


	8. Progress

If I had to weigh out the idea of failing and getting kicked out of school, all the while facing humiliation of being branded an idiot, versus the prospect of humiliating myself by asking the guy who I shot down for tutoring to help me pass, I thought the latter seemed a much more quiet embarrassment.

I could say something really vague, like, '_oh, I was in intense pain when we talked last, sorry about that, no hard feelings, okay?_', maybe he'd be merciful about it. Still, it took a lot of major debate with my proud self and some steeling of the facial expressions before I could approach Harry Potter. When I did, he looked up at me with slight disinterest, and a great deal of disdain.

"Yes, Asher?" He frowned, as I towered over his sitting form. I struggled to keep my face pleasant.

"Listen, Harry, can we talk again?"

"What makes you think I want to discuss anything with you?" He shrugged. "What are we, friends?"

Oh, _hell no_. Sassy-ass boy using my words against me? Goodbye, nice Blake.

I gathered a fistful of his black robes and yanked him out of his seat. Although it would have been proper for his macho image to look uncaring, the astounded look on his face was just too priceless.

"Did you just backtalk me?" I growled.

"So what if I did?" He replied. "None of you aggressive, foul-mouthed Slytherins care, right?"

"Oh, I care." I hissed. "Are we going to have a decent conversation, or not?"

The livid look on my face seemed to communicate the mental threat that I would castrate him if he didn't say 'yes, we will'. He seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "Fine".

I released my deathgrip on his clothes and stalked out of the Great Hall. I could hear his wary footsteps following closely behind. When we exited the grand doors, I turned on my heel. The look of disgust was back on his face.

"So." He raised an eyebrow.

"I need your help." I stated flatly.

"Alright. Goodbye," He answered, making to walk firmly back into the Great Hall. Desperately, I grabbed onto the neckline of his robes – he choked and turned back around, looking furious. "_What, _Blake, _what do you want_?"

"Help, please, please, please, with a big cherry on top!" I suddenly wailed, dropping all form of carefully practiced animosity. "Harry, I'm really sorry I was such an assbite to you the other day. But I really need your help. I'm failing almost every subject, and I can't continue on like this, I'll be screwed for life."

"And what happened to Malfoy tutoring you?" He inquired, more curious than aloof. I turned pink.

"It sucked balls. Please, you have to help me. I'm really sorry – look, I'll even pay you compensation for your time. I just really need to pull it together, and I can't do it without a tutor."

A sort of uncomfortable silence fell upon us. Then, finally, Harry's annoyed composure slipped. "Okay, Blake. I'll help you. But I just need you to know, I don't appreciate it when you act like… well, one of them, and now you're asking me for help."

"One of them?"

"The Slytherins. You're becoming just like one of them. And I don't think you're like that. But you're really shaping up to be one."

Funny. That was what Blaise said to me just recently. But at the time, he made it sound like such an admirable thing. Perhaps it was a subjective sort of debate.

"Sorry. I didn't realize… Anyway," I cut myself short, because I wasn't entirely sure what I hadn't realized, "You're serious? You'll help me?"

"I'm not saying no, so, yes. I guess I could try."

"Oh, thank you, _thank you_, you have no idea-"

"I just hope that there's no more of the death threats and the grabbing of the robes in the future." He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, well, yeah. Sorry," I apologized sheepishly. "It won't happen again, I promise. I just got carried away."

"I know. That's okay," He shook his head. "Tonight at the library, six o'clock. Bring your stuff."

"I will. Thanks, Harry Potter."

The Great Hall's doors opened once again – out stepped Draco Malfoy, followed by Blaise and Pansy, the last still saying something obviously none of the boys cared about.

"And he just sort of flew off the handle after that-"

"Nice talking to you, Asher," Harry Potter picked up his cool atmosphere again. "Not."

"But-" Before I could wonder why he'd returned into an unhelpful bastard, he turned on his heel and stalked off, disappearing behind a throng of younger students.

"Was she just talking to Potter?" Pansy Parkinson asked in an undertone. Draco Malfoy regarded me haughtily, challengingly.

I realized what Harry Potter had meant to do. Perhaps to pretend like no pleasant exchange of words had occurred, he'd stormed off while saying something relatively mean to me as my fellow Housemates came by.

"Yeah, well…" I fumbled for words, trying to sound really angry, "Good riddance, Potter!"

Okay, fine. He was kind of better at it than I was. So what? I was caught off-guard. That had to count for something, right?

"Told you she's a natural," Blaise shook my hand in a mock form of praise. "Well done, Asher."

"Yes, quite," Draco said sarcastically. "I'm sure Potter will be shaking in his knickers now, won't he?"

"No, I don't think so. I believe being a complete jerk to people requires a certain level of finesse. One," I raised an eyebrow, "You seemed to have mastered with ease."

"Oh, yes, Draco is all about the finesse," Pansy put in, obviously not seeing through my words. I rolled my eyes.

"Draco? _Finesse_? **_Draco_**?" Blaise bellowed out a laugh that was kind of inappropriate for the current setting. "Seriously? The only thing I can imagine is Draco in a tutu."

"Keep your tongue, Zabini, or I'll cut it off for you." Draco snapped.

"Yes, _finesse_," I continued, as if the comment about the tongue and the tutu never happened, "Takes a great amount of it to just blatantly leave someone when you're meant to help them, doesn't it, _Draco_?"

A sort of silence ensued at this moment. A few mini-storm clouds gathered threateningly in Draco's eyes.

"Yes, well," Blaise cut in, "All conversations of tutus aside, we should head for class. Heard Snape's in a foul mood today. After you, Asher."

But Blaise didn't let me walk indignantly ahead. Instead, he grabbed my arm and steered me forward, hissing angrily into my ear.

"What the _fuck_ d'you think you're doing?"

"I'm merely pointing out that finesse is required to-"

"Fuck it, Asher, drop the _finesse_!" He spat, and I winced. "What are you doing, getting on Draco's bad side?"

"What do you mean, _getting_?" I retorted. "I was there from the beginning of time!"

"Well, you're certainly trying to get to the other side, aren't you, genius?"

"Draco doesn't want to tutor me, so that's fine. I'll find another one. I don't have enough time trying to beg at his highness' feet." I frowned.

"Who on earth is going to teach you?" Blaise demanded.

"I'll tell you who's _not_ going to teach me," I yanked my arm away from his grasp, walking firmly ahead. "Draco Malfoy."

* * *

I sat in the library, drumming my fingers on the table. My potions book was turned open to the foreboding page of _Fluxweed_ again, and Harry Potter was still nowhere to be found. I had thought that I would be in deep shit because I was fifteen minutes too late – but no, it was quarter to seven and I was still all alone.

Just when I decided it was some shit prank he'd pulled on me and I resolved to give him a good kick in the groin the following day, Harry came sliding through the shelves, sopping wet.

"Woah," I regarded him with some disgust. "Who turned the sprinkler on?"

"Sorry I'm late, Blake," He said, ignoring my question. "Practice ran late. Ron hit Demelza and – well, never mind. Have you got all your stuff, then?"

"I guess so, is this it?" I showed him the book.

"Why're you reading on Fluxweed?" He inquired, shaking off his drenched overcoat. "That's too advanced for you. Perhaps you should start on, I don't know. Page one?"

I stared at the drawn image of the Fluxweed, and cursed. Stupid, arrogant, good-looking blonde. With anger, I pawed through the crispy pages of the book until I reached the first page.

_Foreword_. That's what it said.

"Well, perhaps, not _exactly_ page one," He said, a little embarrassedly. "How about we start with common antidotes for poisons?"

"Sounds great," I replied, trying to seem a little enthusiastic. Still, I could tell already that this session (and, probably, all the ones that followed) would be kind of boring. Maybe it was the subject matter, or maybe I just didn't like studying at all. "So, will I just read it?"

"Well," Harry Potter gave me a funny look. "If you work that way, sure. Go on ahead."

"No, I mean, because," I spluttered. "The way Draco did it-"

"Oh, yeah, that. Well, let's not mind Draco's failure teaching methods," He suggested quickly, seeing my discomfort – the past traumatic tutoring was obviously still badgering me. "Do you know any of the most famous ingredients used for antidotes to poisons?"

I shook my head.

"That's alright," He said, and I breathed out a sigh of relief – I guessed he wasn't going to bite my head off. "Well, one of them is a bezoar."

"What's that?"

"It's a kind of small stone, usually found in the kidney of a goat…"

This was how the session went. Although the topic was decidedly dull, at least I picked up a few things. Furthermore, nothing in Harry Potter's tone suggested he had more important, more pressing things to do than to tutor an idiot like me. In fact, he was quite kind about it – considering the spat we'd had a few days before. Not once did he mention my lack of knowledge, or my ineptitude on anything that concerned magic.

"Merlin, it's eleven," He suddenly exclaimed. "We should go, before we get slaughtered by Sna – actually, _I _should go."

"What's wrong with Snape?" I wondered. For the most part, meeting the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and my apparent House Head wasn't too painful – in fact, despite his greasy, slightly unnerving expressions, he wasn't all too mean to me.

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't know, seeing as you're Slytherin – not that, you know," He added hurriedly, as I shot him a look. "It's because you're… Well, Snape has favoritism issues, you see."

"What kind of favoritism issues?"

"Oh, well, he hates… practically anyone who's not Slytherin, really," He scoffed. "But I think he's reserved a special place on his blacklist for me."

"Many people seem to dislike you," I commented, before I could stop myself. I clapped a hand over my mouth in horror. "I mean – well, not _many_ people, I just meant-"

"All of the Slytherins." He laughed a hollow laugh that made me feel worse. "Yes, I've gathered. Not to worry. It doesn't matter, much."

"I'm really sorry. I have no idea why I said that."

"I do," He shook his head, but then offered me a wary smile. "Let's go. We might get in trouble, out past curfew."

We stuffed our things into our bags, and hurriedly exited the library. All the corridors were either dimly lit or pitch black, and I felt a little scared. Harry, however, seemed to think nothing of this.

"Well, see you, Blake."

"Yeah, um, bye, Harry. Thanks a bunch."

"No problem," He gave a small wave, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me all alone. A small shiver ran through my spine.

In order to keep myself busy and unafraid while walking, I began to sing in my head – one of those really happy, annoying pop songs by Taylor Swift. I believe the title is _You Belong With Me_. Supposedly it's about this crazily obsessed schoolgirl wanting to snag this not-so-hot sounding dude from this other snobby bitch. I don't think I've ever met anyone like that, but these days, who knows what kind of situations people get in?

Besides, the tune _is_ sort of catchy. Admittedly.

I'd reached the part where Taylor Swift, singing persona, starts whining about how the jerk should stop lying to himself about liking the other girl. Personally, I think it would have been much easier if she'd just go up and tell him about it instead of writing some lovesick song he'll probably never hear until it hits the airwaves, but to each his own. Anyway, it was then I heard a loud banging sound, and I'd jumped about a mile high into the air and choked out a small scream.

Oh, great. I don't even have a flashlight.

"W-who's there?" I called out, feeling like I was in a horror movie, where the main character inches into a room, unaware that there's this massive monster trailing behind him, ready to devour his ass.

Ah, way to pee your pants, Asher. You're a genius.

Footsteps. I couldn't be certain if they were coming closer or nearer. It was as if they were all around, bouncing across the cold stone walls. Thoroughly freaked out, I spun on my heel and bolted for all my life was worth.

Well, that is, until I rammed headfirst into Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, shit!" I couldn't help exclaiming, finding him on the ground. In the bright light of his wandtip, I could see the practiced expression of arrogant disgust glaring up at me.

Okay. My ass is done.

"_What_," He said, smacking my hand away painfully when I offered to help him up. "the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, Asher?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I squealed, almost dancing in place. "I didn't see you, I'm sorry. I just heard this noise, and then I got scared, so I ran for it… well, into you."

"You do realize it's almost an hour and a half past curfew?" He demanded angrily, righting himself. "What are you doing, wandering around like a fucking idiot?"

"Well, I-" He waved my answer away annoyedly, straightening out his robes. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?"

"Takes a lot more than a stupid girl to break a bone, in case you didn't know," He replied, glaring at me.

"I said I was sorry," I frowned. "I mean, I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up." He ordered me tiredly, shaking his head. "Just fucking go already. Or have you lost your way yet again?"

I didn't want to admit it, that yes, I had, so I said, "No, I'm okay. Sorry again."

"I don't care, much."

"Just so that you're aware of it." God, what crawled up his ass and died? "Goodnight. Sorry."

I turned around, walking away. I'd thought that was the end of the conversation, but, apparently, not.

"You're going the wrong way, Asher."

"Who said I was going back to the common room?" I snapped suddenly. "I think I'm going to the girls' bathroom."

"What on earth for?"

"To do my feminine business, thanks. Not that you needed to know that." I rolled my eyes, though I wasn't sure he could see it, in the darkness. "I'm rolling my eyes, just so you know."

"Yeah, because I needed to know that." He grabbed my arm. "We're returning to the common room."

"What are you, God?" I stuck my tongue out childishly. "I told you, I'm going to the girls' bathroom. If you have a problem with that, get a gender change."

"Going to have a good cry there? What, did I hurt your feelings?"

"No, but my _bladder_ wants to have a _good cry_, so, if you don't mind…" I wrenched myself out of his grip. "Goodnight, Draco Malfoy."

Resolutely, I began to _really_ walk away, my back painfully rigid, as a form of indignation.

"Asher."

"What?" I stamped my foot. I think I could revert back to seven years old, if I wanted to.

"How about we don't mention anything about this encounter, and we'll both keep out of trouble?"

I turned, looking at him suspiciously. I realized that, although he was a _prefect_, he was out past patrol as well.

"Fine." I agreed.

"Fine. Have a good night, Asher." He turned, stalking away. "In the girls' bathroom, that is."

Oh, haha. Funny guy.

* * *

"Hmmm. Notable improvement, Miss Asher!" Slughorn (a.k.a. Walrus. Seriously. This is the only way I'll ever remember him) praised me, clapping his fat, sausage-y hand on my shoulder. "Well done, well done indeed! Very good – this at least deserves an E."

"An E?" I muttered under my breath. "Not an A?"

"What're you complaining about?" Blaise raised an eyebrow. "E's are always better than A's. Everyone knows that."

"Why?"

"Because E stands for "Exceeds Expectations". Damn better than an "Acceptable". Though," He smirked, chuckling under his breath. "I bet it's only because you _exceeded_ his _expectation_ that you'd blow the damn place up."

"Shut up."

"Shame you didn't, actually," He added thoughtfully, a wicked smile playing on his lips. I punched him in the arm, and he mocked hurt. "Ow, Asher! That was painful. Anyway, who'd you get to teach you?"

"The house elves," I replied dryly.

"Alright, alright, don't have to be such a bitch about it." He sighed. "You keep it to yourself then. Just as long as you're not making out with someone who has some oral disease-"

"Keep your gross comments to yourself," I wrinkled my nose.

Slughorn wrapped the class up with a smile, saying, 'Good work today, everyone!', and dismissed us without further ado. As I cleaned up my work area, Harry Potter approached me, an unreadable expression on his face. He peered into my cauldron, a critical eye surveying my product.

"Not too bad, Asher," He murmured.

"Yes, thanks for rubbing it in our faces that yours was _perfect_, Potter," Blaise snapped, violently stuffing his quill into his bag.

"Mine wasn't perfect, yours was just dung," Harry Potter said coolly, turning away and walking out of the classroom with his friends.

"Arrogant git," Blaise muttered. "Let's go, Asher."

"Okay," I replied, following him out of the dungeon with a good feeling, for the first time since I'd arrived.

"Blaise!" A loud, soprano voice called out, and we both looked up to see Daphne Greengrass waving him over. I resisted the urge to gag at the moony look on her face.

"Later, Asher," He smirked, detaching himself from my side and heading over to his girlfriend. Alone now, I walked onto my next class, a good distance from my previous venue.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up," I heard someone say flatly. Pansy Parkinson was giving Draco Malfoy an unhappy look a few paces ahead, but she continued to our next classroom silently. In an attempt to seem invisible, I ducked my head, walking a little more quickly. I prayed I wouldn't be noticed, and that I would blend in with the throng of students passing by. But, of course, everything was wished for in vain.

"Asher."

I made a face at someone's retreating back, and turned to Draco Malfoy. "Oh. Hey. 'Sup?"

He did not say anything at first, but clutched at my robe, and pulled me aside. We walked through a less crowded path that brushed against the left wall.

"Why on earth have you chosen Potter to tutor you?"

I gaped. What? Did everyone know something I didn't know? Or was this guy really the Omnipotent Almighty? "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb blonde with me," He snapped, though this was ironic – my hair was a healthy shade of darkness. "I know Potter's tutoring you. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Before you make any more incorrect assumptions-" I began to protest, but he glared at me, stumping my words into nothingness.

"_Why is Potter tutoring you_?" He demanded.

"Because you're a bitch and you ditched me, that's why!" I suddenly retorted furiously. "And I don't have a lot of bright ideas, okay? What else was I supposed to do?"

"Anyone but _Potter_," He hissed venomously.

"What do you care? Harry Potter's a thousand times nicer about my incompetence than you!"

"Harry Potter's nice about it because he's as smart as a chicken," He growled. "Anything he taught you would be basic. _At best_."

"Maybe it would be _easier_ for someone who didn't know anything to _start_ with the basics," I pointed out, irritated still about the Fluxweed shit.

"Yes, because you'll really catch up at that rate," He said sarcastically. "I could tell you his entire knowledge span in my sleep."

"Okay, Einstein, thanks for the information. I'll jot it down in my diary and keep it safe and sound. Bye," I said resolutely, making to stomp elegantly into Transfiguration.

"Seven o'clock."

"_What_?"

"You're never going to pass at the rate you're going, Asher. Face it. Once Harry Potter runs out of things to feed you with, you'll be failing as miserably as he is." Draco Malfoy answered, deadpan. "As much as it pains me to say so, I believe I have no choice but to pull you back into tutoring under me."

"Christ, you're bipolar." I snapped. "Thanks, but I'm cool. I don't think I want to face another humiliatingly frustrating tutor session with you."

"I promise I won't make you cry this time," He smirked, despite himself.

"_Cry_? You know what I don't understand?" I frowned. "How you can be a total ass to someone, act like you hate them because you think they're retarded, then suddenly offer your help, expecting them to just jump the opportunity."

"Everyone has their reasons. You know what I don't understand, Asher?" He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You."

* * *

**A.N.: Oh, hawt damn. this is my jam. keep me partyin' till the - OKAY.**

**REVIEW BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.**

**Aimee ;)**


	9. Outstanding

"Took you long enough."

This was how I was greeted on the second attempt Draco Malfoy conducted in tutoring me. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly the highlight line of my life. Pulling a face I sincerely hoped he caught, I dumped all my textbooks on the polished wooden table. It made a nice, loud _bang_ I was a hundred percent sure he'd caught.

"What's your problem, Asher?" He demanded.

"You tell me. After all, you're the one who's so great at coming up with all my angles of retardation," I replied tiredly.

"Just sit down," He snapped, pulling my textbook to him without permission. Sighing, I followed, leaning back on the creaky backrest. I watched him uninterestedly as he leafed through the pages.

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" I asked, after about five minutes of pure, waiting silence. He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

"Patience is a virtue. Don't they teach you anything in America?" He answered, frowning.

"Hark who's talking," I muttered under my breath. _Took you long enough_. Christ, I was only five minutes late.

"What was that?"

"I said you were beautiful," I snapped, irritated sarcasm dripping from my voice.

He did not say anything at first, but returned to flipping through my book. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "That's flattering."

I snorted.

"What?" the other eyebrow arched nicely.

"Nothing." I shook my head, waving him away. "Continue your book-flipping activities."

He did.

After about another three minutes of me staring at the ceiling, he stopped at a page, and set the book down, sliding it to me. I read the title out loud in a monotonous voice.

"Elixir to induce Euphoria." I raised my eyebrows till they nearly disappeared.

"You sound like you have a problem with this." He countered, frowning slightly.

"No. It sounds lovely." Please gag me. "Shall I read it aloud, like a bedtime story? Or should I diligently read it while nothing enters my head?"

"What you _really_ need to learn is how to keep your rude comments to yourself." He glared at me. "Read it quietly, and jot down notes. You can ask me what you don't get later."

"How about never?" I said, annoyed. "Listen, I don't know if you've ever done this before – probably not – but people don't get tutored this way. I don't mean to be _rude_-"

"Yes, you do."

"Okay, fine. All I'm saying is that maybe you could _explain_ while I'm reading, because I can do what you're asking me to, in the confines of my own room, without you breathing down my neck like my mother."

A small silence blossomed. "Your mother."

"Oh, God, is that all you got?"

"No, I heard you, Asher." He growled. "You want me to teach you like you're eleven years old. Is that how Potter teaches you?"

"Why, are you going to report him for being a better tutor?" I retorted.

"Has anyone ever told you that scowling is unattractive on a lady?" He leaned back, crossing his arms.

_What_? When did we get to this topic?

"Well you – oh, never mind!" I pulled my book to my chest, and disappeared behind it, making sure I couldn't see even the tips of his blonde head. I could swear that I heard him chuckle after that.

Thirty minutes of me trying to understand the black on white passed. Upon reaching the heading, "_Side Effects of Euphoria Elixir_,_" _I decided it was a great time to ask for help.

"Uh, Draco," I put down my book, tapping my nail on the wood. He looked up from his own work, a little disgruntled.

"What?"

"I don't get… well."

"Everything?"

"Well don't judge me!" I said defensively. He rolled his eyes and pulled the book towards him, scanning his eyes on the print. "Why do you need an Elixir for Euphoria anyway?"

"Not everyone enjoys sulking in the dark." He muttered.

"Oh, okay. Guess you don't need that shit, then." I drew an invisible hangman pattern on the smooth wood. Something closely resembling a growl purred from his throat. I erased the finger-picture I'd made.

That was going to be me at the end of today.

* * *

Another hour of his explaining vaguely the Elixir, filled with various side comments targeting my incompetence wrapped itself up just as the clock chimed. With a breath of relief I didn't even bother masking up, I shut my book and leaned back on my seat, rubbing the tired out of my eyes.

"Have you got it all, then?" Draco asked, rather nonchalant.

"Yes, I'm great. Thanks, dude." He stood up to pack his things, shoving them in with such force into his bag I was surprised the fabric didn't rip apart.

"You know, I'm curious, Asher." He said, without looking at me directly. "You don't seem to know much of anything."

"I don't. Not really."

"Why?"

_Why_? I don't know. I never even knew magic existed till… well, till it struck me quite nicely in the butt.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm just not good at this. It's something people are born with, and obviously, I was dropped as a child."

"Well, is there anything you're good at?" He inquired, sounding more irritated than curious.

"Music." I answered automatically. "I'm good at music."

"_Music_." He echoed, sounding disdainful. "That's really useful, Asher."

"It is if you do it for a living." I replied. "Besides, I bet you wouldn't know how to hold a guitar if your life depended on it."

"Least I know how to hold a wand when my life depends on it." He retorted. "What use is a guitar?"

"What use is a piece of wood?" I shot back, rolling my eyes. "Can we not talk about this? Just go on and do your business already."

"You're not leaving?"

"No. I'm staying. And sulking in a dark corner," I added, just out of spite. "Whip me up some of that Elixir next time. Goodnight, Draco Malfoy."

He sighed. "You're a piece of work, Asher, I'll give you that. But you're downright mental. Have yourself a good night." He hitched up his bag and shook his head, his feet tapping on the cold stone floor as he walked out. But before he reached the door, I heard a soft thud, a few aisles away.

"Watch it, Potter."

"Not my fault you're as blind as a bat, Malfoy." I heard Harry Potter's voice snap back.

"What're you doing in the library? Id've thought this was more Granger's forte."

"What're _you_ doing here? I'd thought you'd have more pressing business than to hang around a bunch of books."

"My business is mine, and you can stick your ugly nose out of it." Draco's voice drawled. "Have a great time trying to put something through that thick head of yours, Potter."

And it became evident that they parted ways, for a few moments later, Harry Potter appeared around the corner, shaking his head.

"How d'you put up with it, Blake?" He sighed, dropping his bag onto the desk. "I assumed when you said he'd be tutoring you over, he'd gone through some miraculous evolution of attitude."

"If he had, would I still have asked you?" I inquired.

"No, you've got a point." He sat himself down, positioned across me, where Draco sat just moments ago. "Don't think that would ever become possible. But I suppose you're all good friends now, telling each other secrets, and all."

"Yeah, right. And I have a dick."

"Thought so." He flipped through his own copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. On each of the pages was an array of black scribbles, doodled over the edges and in between steps.

"Holy Christ, Harry Potter. What the hell have you been doing to your book?" I demanded, my eyes widening at all the little sidenotes.

"Nothing. It's a secondhand copy. I didn't do that," He answered quickly, then changed the subject. "Hey, speaking of getting close with Draco, have you noticed anything weird about him lately?"

"Aside from the fact that he's a jerk to me?"

"I'm being serious, Blake."

"He likes to take long walks around the corridors at the weirdest times." I noted, trying to read the scribbles from upside down. I failed, as they were thin and rather messily written – evidently the work of a male specimen. "But I think that's just prefect patrol, isn't it?"

"What times?" Harry noticed my attempts to read his book, and slid a hand over the page, obscuring my view.

"I don't know, like, midnight, or close to it. And he's usually crabbier than normal."

"Anything else?" He leaned in. "Seen anything on him?"

"Ew, are you gay?" I reeled back, a look of disgust forming on my face. "Whatever sexcapades you have, leave me out of it."

"Very funny. Seriously, Blake."

"He has a tattoo." I remembered, chewing my lip in an attempt to get me to find the right words to describe. "It's… actually, it's kind of creepy."

"What does it look like?" He asked urgently.

"Like an alien trying to eat an anaconda, really. D'you think he's part of a cult, or something?"

"No. Something worse." Harry Potter replied darkly.

"What, is he sacrificing beautiful, submissive virgins on an altar at midnight?" I joked, though it was a nervous quip – however, it worked, because the look on Harry's face relaxed.

"Why, has he asked you for your life yet?"

"No, I don't think I would – ah, be the best sacrifice, really." I chortled. "I don't think I meet many of the requirements."

"I'm curious to know which ones." He bit back a laugh.

"Okay, enough talking about virgin sacrifices. Teach me," I instructed, pointing towards his book. "And don't give me a mindfuck. I had enough from Draco."

"Okay, well, what did you start on?"

"Something about an Elixir that makes you Euphoric." I waved my hand dismissively. "Know any of those?"

"Is that the kind that makes people happy?" He asked sarcastically. "Yes, I know it, it's right here."

"Well, good for you. I never would have dreamt you'd find it."

"Oh, I know all about it," He replied, flipping through the pages. "Is that the one they use on virgin sacrifices?"

"Oh God, please shut up." I shook my head, but smiled.

"Alright, alright. Did you get everything, then?"

"Does this face," I pointed to my blank expression, "Look like it _got everything_?"

"Let's start with the first sentence." Harry Potter pointed to the first capital letter of the first sentence in the first paragraph of the text. "Read."

"Sounds like a command," I snickered. He rolled his eyes.

"_Read_, Blake."

"Okay, okay. Don't get your boxers in a knot. Christ."

* * *

The following Potions Class found me beaming at my cauldron and textbook intermittently. It was ten minutes before the period ended, and, for once, I wasn't baffled, flustered, nor generally stuck in the earlier two steps of the process. In fact, this was so good; I could hardly believe my hands were brewing the concoction in front of my eyes. What we were making? 

Elixir to induce euphoria.

I swear, God was on my side today.

"Wow, Asher, see you haven't managed to fuck things up like you usually do," Blaise commented, peering into the cauldron as I stirred with so much elation, I wondered if inhaling the steam had its own side effects. "Congratulations. Tutoring with Draco turn out better this time, eh?"

"You could say so." I replied evasively, watching it bubble while my heart swelled with uncontainable pride.

"Of course it did," Said the voice from in front of us, and Draco turned to face our table. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, let's define that, shall we?" I teased, in too good a mood to bite back with witty irritation. "Your second attempt to tutor me, in spite of all the insults at my lacking intelligence, seems to have taken a beneficial toll on my performance."

"And you know it," He drawled, the ghost of a smile curling up the corners of his lips.

"I see some sort of pact has been made," Blaise interrupted in a very timely fashion. "Can we safely assume that no more unfriendly tension will be clouding our little crowd's air, then?"

"Please, mind your own butt pimples, Blaise," I rolled my eyes.

"Is that even an expression?"

"It is now," I shook my head, waving him away. "Just stop asking stupid questions."

"I'd just like to know if we've all kissed and made up, that's all," He retorted childishly. "Besides, I don't have butt pimples."

"Why, you really take the time out to check, do you?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Well, as a matter of fact-"

"And, time's _up_! Stop stirring, please!" Slughorn clapped his hands, some trademark movements and words that usually happened at the end of one lesson each day. "Right – put that ladle down, Zabini. Yes, that one, the one you're holding right there."

Blaise muttered something obscene and banged the ladle down on the desk. Clearly, he hadn't finished much into the potion.

"What does it matter if Slughorn checks our potions?" Draco mumbled, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "We all know Potter's going to get the big O, plus some flattery on the side. Slughorn knows it. Potter knows it. Look at his face."

I glanced at Harry Potter's face. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with it, aside from the fact that his mouth was wide open – the result of his yawning as I looked.

"Well… You can't really fake doing well, know what I mean?" I shrugged, trying to be diplomatic about it. Draco Malfoy opened his mouth as if to retort, but Pansy, willing to offer a mouthful of praise, beat him to the punch.

"Oh, who cares about _precious Potter_," She simpered. "We all know Draco's really the best at potions. Slughorn's just a fat, blundering idiot. Right, Draco?"

"Sure," Draco said dismissively. So much for modesty.

Slughorn waddled over to our side of the room, and we shuffled back to our normal positions, as if the conversation never happened. Gravely, he peered into each of our cauldrons. I suddenly became nervous – come to think about it, I couldn't be sure I'd gotten it _quite_ right. Oh, shit, I probably screwed the whole thing up, and now everyone who'd have a sip would fall into mass depression and commit suicide –

"Well _done_, Miss Asher! Very well done indeed!" Slughorn clapped his hands with delight. I let out a breath of pure relief. "By jove, I think you've got the hang of it! Very good – well deserving of an O, I daresay!"

My jaw all but hit the ground – everyone in a two feet radius (who had experienced many gunshots and potion showers from my station and knew very well of the nonexistence of my potion making skills) seemed to have been stunned into pure silence as well. Blaise, who stood beside me, seemed torn between shock and amusement. Only Draco Malfoy had a slightly different expression – one of self-satisfaction maybe, and a little bitter mockery.

But _who the fuck cares , _I'm screwing _passing_. Draco Malfoy can make all the stupid faces he likes.

"Can I shake your hand then, Asher?" Blaise picked up the regular form of teasing that was so familiar to us both. "Or do you think it would be too impertinent of me to ask?"

"Yes, you may," I snorted. We didn't shake, but high-fived, which was a lot better in my opinion.

Draco leaned in, his voice not rising above a murmur. "Suppose you owe me, then, Asher."

"What do you mean?"

"I think a _'thank you'_ would start it off quite well."

"Okay, okay. Thanks, man. Guess you really swung through." Not that I wasn't itching to point out that it had nothing to do with his absurdly awful methods of teaching, nor that I hadn't really much asked him to tutor me – if I recall quite clearly, there was more telling on his part than asking on mine.

"Since we're past that," He said breezily. "I'm counting on a little form of payment."

"Like what, money?"

"No, idiot, I've no use for your money," He rolled his eyes. "Really."

"The Malfoys are one of the richest families in the wizarding world, Asher." Blaise hissed in my ear. "Well, so are the Zabinis, of course-"

I shoved Blaise's face away from my ear. "Okay, got it, I'm not retarded."

"A favor," Draco continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "That I'm counting on."

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"One, because I expect an act of gratitude from you," He ticked it off on his long fingers. "And, two, because I need a _girl_ to do it. I assume you're one of those."

"Last time I checked," I frowned, because the last comment was really unnecessary. "I didn't have something useless hanging off me. So, yeah, I guess so."

"That's all," He replied breezily, unaffected. "Just be ready to keep your mouth shut when it happens. See you at seven."

"Okay, but-" I didn't get a chance to finish – the moment Slughorn disappeared through the teacher's door, Draco grabbed his bag and strode briskly out the door. "Okay. Fine."

"What is it with you and your godforsaken inclination to insulting the male species?" Blaise wondered, as we packed our things slowly.

"Well, they're all the same, aren't they?" I replied.

"Meaning?"

"You know," I made a face. "Neanderthalic."

"Neander-what?"

"Stupid." I explained. "Exhibit A."

"I suppose you think you're so much better now that you've gotten your first O," Blaise said, with a twinge of bitterness in his voice.

"No, I've always thought that."

"Well, you can't talk, Asher," He scoffed. "Look who's tutoring you."

For a moment, my heart stopped. I heard the last echo of its beating rumble through my chest, and go still. Did Blaise know? Was this the moment he'd turn to me and reprimand me immensely for fraternizing with the enemy?

"I mean, Draco's really effing smart, and you're flunking every class. Last time I checked," He smirked, "Draco had that _useless thing_ hanging off him."

"Oooh, I see someone's been paying close attention to naked Draco Malfoys," I shot back, letting my breath escape my lips slowly in a sigh of relief. "Besides, I'm not failing every subject!"

"History of Magic doesn't count," He pointed out. "It's useless, and, hence, does not qualify to even be called a subject."

"You're just saying that because you're failing it," I muttered.

"I am not _failing _it. I am simply using it for other purposes."

"Like what, making out with Daphne Greengrass?"

"I refuse to pay attention in History of Magic. Whatever performance I garner in it is a hundred percent deliberate." He concluded haughtily.

"Okay, I believe you," I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

* * *

"You'll be pleased to hear what you'll be studying this evening, Asher," Draco Malfoy drawled as I rounded the aisle of books to the designated table, at the preferred far end of the room.

"How'd you know it was me?" I said breathlessly.

"Because your footsteps are so loud, I swear I could pick it up from a mile away," He replied without the least bit of shame.

"Thanks, I guess," I spat bitterly, sitting down. "Should I get a late slip first, or will you let it pass, o great teacher?"

"I'll let it pass," He answered dismissively. "Though, again, I don't really enjoy your nasty quips."

"Sorry."

"Book to page fifty-five, then."

Obediently, I flipped the white pages of my book open, keeping my eyes on the lower left-hand corner for the number fifty-five. I could feel the vibrations from the table on my skin, as my peer-tutor drummed his fingers impatiently on the surface. I bit back my annoyance. Finally, I found the page, and my eyes zoomed up to read the heading.

"Amortenia?" I snorted. "You've got to be shitting me."

"You've no right to laugh, Asher. If I remember correctly, the last time you attempted to make that potion, you botched it. _Miserably_," He added with a hint of venom. I narrowed my eyes.

"Don't push it. Anyway, what use is it if I learn this potion? We've done it already. Can't we do something else?"

"Tut tut, Asher. You're questioning your tutor? Shame on you," He leaned in, looking disapproving. "We're not studying it because we're going to take it up. We're studying it so you can work on your cognitive skills."

"I don't think I have those."

"Evidently," He rolled his eyes. "Thinking skills, you idiot. Your intelligence."

"Right. I knew that, because everyone in the world uses the word _cognitive_." I shot back, annoyed.

"Besides, you'll never know if you'll need it," He added, with just a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Okay, I get it," I replied flatly. "You're implying various mean things. Fine, be an ass."

"Quit talking and just read the damn book already."

Grumbling, I let my eyes focus on the words. _Amortenia_. How useless; as if I would really need a stupid potion to get a boyfriend. Not only does the thought sicken me, it kind of makes me feel bad as well.

I'd only reached the first paragraph, when I began yawning. All these theories were dead boring, and I didn't see why I had to memorize them to the last period. My head began taking over, lolling occasionally around my neck.

"Wake _up_, Asher," Draco commanded, rapping his knuckles smartly on the table. I shot him a look.

"Stop it, can't you see I'm dead tired?"

"I'm tired of you slacking!" He snapped. "Wake up, will you? Here," He handed me a book, thin but elegantly designed, with swirls of gold running up the spine.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" I frowned.

"Well, usually, what people do with books," He drawled, "Is read."

"Funny. Really witty." I turned the cover. "_Love Potions of the Ages_. Sounds wonderful."

"The page is marked." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. Sighing, I used my nail to flip open the book to the designated page. Instantly, a wave of sweet-smelling spearmint toothpaste and morning dew attacked my face.

"Oh, God, what's it doing?" I coughed, dropping the textbook onto the table.

"It's demonstrating, you dimwit," He rolled his eyes. The smell of Amortenia."

"Wonderful. It's so strong." I held my breath for a moment, casting the book a baleful glance.

"It's meant to be. It's Amortenia. The most powerful love potion in the world," He shut the book, and the scent instantly dissipated, and I gulped in a new breath of fresh air. "What do you smell?"

"Nothing, my nose is stinging like crazy. I think I have raw skin wounds," I lied, sounding more defensive on my part.

"Shall we have another go, then?"

"Alright, alright! Jesus Christ," I waved the book away. "It smells like toothpaste."

"Like toothpaste." He echoed.

"Okay, like mint. Spearmint. And sometimes with honey, sometimes with dew." I shrugged. "Happy?"

"Euphoric," The ghost of a smile crept onto his face.

Oh, harhar.

"Your turn." I continued, eager to take my embarrassment off the subject pedestal. "What do you smell?"

"That's not really much of your business, is it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Actually-"

"_Finally_, Draco, I've found you," The preceding smell of rose perfume was quickly followed by the corporeal presence of Pansy Parkinson, her long hair styled in the most unusual fashion. It was somewhat of a cross between a braid and a chignon, which, I'm sure would have been quite nice – if it were done right, of course. "Oh, hello. Am I interrupting something?"

"No. We were just discussing toothpaste." Draco said, deadpan. I bit my tongue, restraining it from making the raspberry face.

"Oh, well, I came to tell you that prefect patrol is starting a half-hour early tonight. The Heads don't want students out of bed too late anymore, what with… you know."

Oh, no, is there a serial killer magician elf on the loose? Someone get my ass out of her, _please_. _Now_.

"Right. Okay, thanks, Pansy." The boy across me replied uncaringly.

"Hey, Blake," Pansy turned to me, her cheeks a slight shade of pink.

"Uh, Hello. Pansy." I greeted awkwardly. "Nice, um, hairdo."

"Thanks. Lifted it off Witch Weekly's October Issue." She patted the distorted ball of hair at the nape of her neck. "Pretty cool, huh? Want me to do you up?"

"No, thanks," I declined politely, albeit a little too quickly. "I'm good with my mess. Looks good on you though."

"Thank you," She cast a quick glance at Draco, who outlined the gold swirls on the book cover uninterestedly. "Well, see you later."

And, with that, Pansy Parkinson walked out the library.

"Girls," Draco muttered under his breath.

"I thought you liked her very much?" I wondered, smoothing down my hair – looking at that style made me more conscious that I didn't look any more of a retard than I already did. "Like, you guys were dating, or something."

"Please, I've no time for useless things like those. Especially not with Parkinson," He said with a twinge of disgust.

"But… She really likes you."

"Does she, now?" He looked the same as always – cool, and very uncaring. I could have said that bread pudding was for dessert tomorrow evening. "That's a shame. Where were we?"

"You were going to tell me what you smell when you stick your nose in Amortenia," I replied smartly, pleased I remembered something.

"Ah, yes. And I remember saying something like it wasn't any of your goddamn business, am I correct?"

"Fine, who cares? I know anyway," I snapped, stung. "You told me. It smells like roses."

"Did I?" He looked somewhat thoughtful.

"Yeah, don't you remember? It's why I thought you and Pansy Parkinson were like, a _thing_."

"What did?"

"You. Telling me it smelled like roses. Did you even hear what I last said?" I demanded, irritated.

"Yes," He leaned his elbows onto the table, thinking. "So I said that, did I?"

"_Yes_. Oh my God, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"If you're telling me the truth, then," He shrugged. "I suppose I must have lied."


	10. Hogsmeade

Over my time in this crack-school, I had decided to focus myself on three very important resolutions. First, and foremost, I would dedicate my spare time looking for an exit-door to this shit reality. As far as trying to get out of Hogwarts went, I wasn't doing a very spectacular job. Some (minor) distractions left me forgetting about my vendetta against the thunderstorm that brought me here, and that would never do. I needed a way out of here, or I would go crazy. So, now, I vowed to look a little harder.

Second, I decided that, in order to continue my search for the aforementioned exit door, I needed to keep my grades in shape. Normally, this wouldn't matter to me, seeing as I had been planning since the day of my birth that I would become a full-fledged rockstar. However, seeing the unfortunate turn of events that occurred, having me wind up in the magical areas of Europe, I sadly put that dream aside from now, and focused on passing the teacher-radar quite unnoticed. That way, I wouldn't have to be some grimy old beggar on the streets of unknown London. Besides, it was crapping humiliating, failing. Not to mention almost everyone knew I was the most shit student ever to exist here.

Lastly, I firmly decided I would give being nice to people a go. It was bad enough that I had to suffer not knowing what I was doing, but worse if I had to suffer while being a total sociopath. To avoid interpersonal leprosy, I promised myself I would try to at least get along with most people, holding back my annoying, sarcastic and sometimes (okay, often) rude comments when it was either necessary or doable.

Okay, fine. I admit it. I was going to try to get along with Draco Malfoy. In my total defense, I thought it would be a nice touch to the exit-door plan. I mean, it all fit, right? Be nice to Draco Malfoy. Be properly tutored. Keep grades up. Stay in school. Find the awesome exit door.

I know, it's great, isn't it?

So, yeah. That's when I decided I would try putting the wheel back in motion, and quit losing sight of what I needed to do. Since I was aiming for a reverse-order effect, I attempted to do my last promise first. So, when we finished tutoring on Friday evening, I buckled myself up, took a deep breath, and said, "thank you".

It was so awkward. Like, I was pushing my stuff into my bag, and I couldn't look up because my neck refused to move (and, okay, yeah, it was kind of embarrassing). I was totally engrossed in packing up, and it just sort of fell out. It sounded so bad, like paint ripped off the wall abusively.

He didn't say anything for a while, so I let myself blush. Man, that was painful. I was thinking about the ways I could take it back, when he said, "what for?".

Which was, you know. Worse.

"Well, I mean," I cleared my throat. "Thanks, man. For, you know. Tutoring and stuff. I mean, yeah. You know. Thanks."

That was grossly articulate. The ghost of a smirk curled the corners of his lips. I pouted.

"Okay, stop making fun of me."

"No bitching? No snide comments? What did you eat for lunch today, Asher?" He raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Nothing. I mean, I ate just fine, thanks for asking," I think my words were trying to commit suicide. I should have stuck to "thank you" and ended it there.

"Are you sick, then?"

"No! What's wrong with me thanking you?" I huffed.

"Nothing. Just everything," He shrugged. "You make it sound like you don't owe me, or anything."

"I'm just expressing my gratitude, and it's painful enough as it is," I frowned. "Can't you just accept it and saunter off?"

"No, I will not just _accept it and saunter off_," He snorted. "Remember, you owe me a tiny favor."

"Define _'tiny'_."

"Oh, just something I need you to do. Hardly a bother," He murmured coolly.

"Does it involve running around the castle singing, 'Draco is my king'?" I asked tiredly.

"No, but that's an excellent idea. I'll put it aside for later. Thanks for the tips."

"The _favor_," I reminded him.

"Right. I just need you to accompany me to Hogsmeade in the coming trip. How does that sound?" He leaned forward on his elbows.

"Hogsmeade? Is that a band?"

"No, it's a place, you twit," He rolled his eyes. "The village at the outskirts of Hogwarts. Surely, you've seen the notice?"

"Village. Right. Okay, got it." I chewed on my bottom lip. "A walk in a peaceful village. Sounds somewhat manageable. Okay, fine. Consider it done."

"Alright," He said coolly. "Three o'clock at the main entrance tomorrow."

"Okay. Good plan, good plan," I replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I'm counting on you, Asher," He said, as a form of farewell. He didn't wave goodbye, but merely strode off out of the library. His echoing footsteps faded, then gradually disappeared.

I waited in silence for a few moments, my ears straining to hear any intrusive sounds. A couple of seconds passed, and I decided it was safe.

"It's cool, Harry Potter. You can come out now."

First his head appeared, a pale face framed by dark hair and round glasses. Then, his thin torso, followed by his even more stick-like legs. Sitting down, he shrugged the shiny blanket off his shoulders, folded and pushed it aside.

"Why do you always call me by my full name?" He asked, cracking open his vandalized textbook.

"Because I want to," I explained. "Neat trick, by the way."

"Invisibility cloak." He patted the sheet on the side of the desk. "It was my dad's before."

"Cool, could I borrow it sometime?"

"Definitely."

"Really?" I gasped happily. He snorted.

"No."

"Ugh. How stingy," I muttered under my breath. "Well, what are we learning today, almighty tutor?"

"Felix Felicis," He turned the book towards me. "Liquid luck."

"Oooh," I cooed, my fingers lightly brushing past the text. "Totally awesome. I could definitely use this shit."

"Yeah, I bet," He chuckled. "You're jinxed."

"I'm resenting you," I pouted. "I'm not all bad luck, you know."

"Oh, yeah, totally. Coming from the person who got struck by lightning, failed every class from the first semester, and got stuck with Draco the prat for her first Hogsmeade trip."

"Hey," I narrowed my eyes threateningly. "How about I push you under a typhoon, and you can get electrocuted to, oh, I don't know – Africa?"

"I'm good here, thanks though," He said, clearly enjoying.

"And _I_ passed History of Magic. Did you? Oh, that's right, Harry Potter – you didn't." I continued, "Lastly, what business is it if yours that I owed Draco Malfoy?"

"Hogsmeade? Really, Blake?" He rolled his eyes. "Just hang yourself."

"Of all the things he could have asked, that was pretty nice," I pointed out. "Nothing to ruin my general human dignity, at least."

"Draco Malfoy is up to no good," Harry Potter shot back.

"Don't think I've ever heard that before," I sighed. "Look, Harry Potter. Nothing stupid's going to happen. It's just a debt I have to pay, alright?"

"What for?" He groaned.

"For tutoring me, of course!" I said, exasperated.

"Blake, _I'm_ tutoring you. The most he does is say mean things and stare at you," He interrupted crossly. "And I don't happen to see _my_ thank you present."

"Because I know you're a great, nice person, Harry Potter," I sighed. "Couldn't you just take my gratitude and be happy?"

"How about you tell me what Draco Malfoy's really up to, and we can call it even?" He offered.

"Or, I know. How about you can stop asking someone out of his sacred secret circle about things she doesn't know anything about?" I countered.

"You _really_ don't know anything?" He looked disappointed. "Honestly?"

"I'm swearing on my jinxed life."

"I still think something's up," He insisted. I frowned.

"It's just a stupid village walk. What could possibly go wrong?"

His expression took on a dark character, and I realized only when I finished that I had said the wrong thing.

"Everything, Blake."

* * *

You know that weird, awkward feeling that you're excited about something, consider that you shouldn't be excited about that something, realize that it's nerves getting the best of you, and then mentally smack yourself because you totally know that it's something you shouldn't be nervous about at all?

Whatever. My point is, I was nervous.

The worst thing was, it wasn't because I was afraid I'd be killed in the middle of the street, left to die bleeding red into the pure snow. No, Harry Potter had not gotten to me yet (despite his incessant warnings about how I'd probably never come back to school in one piece. The reason I felt afraid was that, oddly enough, I didn't want to make a total fool of myself.

I know, right? Freaking weird.

But you have to admit, sometimes it gets kind of old and annoying, always making myself the crown idiot in front of this guy that probably believes I really am mentally retarded. It would be nice if my fate today took a rest for a while, and stopped jinxing every breath I took.

So I stood there, my eyes darting around, watching people who watched me. Some familiar faces greeted me with a small smile or a nod,. Most people ignored me.

Harry Potter emerged out of the Great Hall, his two friends flanking him like talkative bodyguards. However, young carrot-top skidded to a stop upon seeing me, his eyes narrowing.

"Seems you're still here," He spat in greeting.

"Hello, Carrot Top," I replied pleasantly.

"I have a name, you know!" He informed me angrily.

"Right. Sorry?"

"Ron Weasley!"

"Oh," I considered this. "I like Carrot Top better, if you don't really mind."

A couple of rude comments under his breath suggested he minded quite strongly. However, these passed, quite ignored.

"Headed to Hogsmeade, then, Blake?" Hermione Granger asked me in her slightly shrill voice, pulling her thick mittens over her fingers.

"Yeah. I heard it's a pretty cool place."

"Where'd you get the signature for your permit?" Harry Potter inquired curiously. I frowned.

"From Professor Snape."

A collective grunt escaped them. "Figures," Harry said bitterly. "McGonagall would never have signed mine if I asked her."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a bit stingy when it comes to… well, everything. Doesn't like to play favorites. Especially not on her house – seems to be one of the many things she and Snape disagree on."

"Snape seems pretty okay. I mean," I added quickly as Harry's face contorted into disgust. "He's pretty scary looking, but he's a bit more kind than most people would imagine."

"Kind my butt," Carrot Top muttered.

An awkward silence punctuated his behind.

"Well, we'll have to go ahead," Hermione mumbled uncomfortably. I nodded without another word, and they filed away without so much as a backwards glance. I crossed my arms – impatience swept over me once again.

"Oi, Asher!"

Blaise, around ten feet away, with his long arm slung over Daphne Greengrass' shoulders, called and waved at me. Awkwardly, I lifted my palm up for a second, and let it fall.

"Hey. Blaise."

"You look a little lost, girl," He observed smartly.

"I am not lost. Thanks for your outpour of concern, though."

"Oh, I see," He tapped his lip with a slim finger. "D'you have yourself a cute little date, then?"

Despite myself, I flushed a deep, heavy red. Blaise smirked.

"Although it's none of your business," I answered hotly. "I do, in fact, have a date."

Two thin, dark eyebrows rocketed up his forehead. "With who pray tell?"

"Mind your own business," I spat. He rolled his eyes.

"Rude little lady, as always."

I guess Blaise was the sole exception to my vow of being nice to people. What a pain in the ass. However, admittedly, it did become increasingly endearing over time.

"Just go on your little smooch adventure already," I said sourly.

"Alright, I will. But I expect a full report of your sexcapade when I see you at dinner, Asher," He turned, as did Daphne Greengrass. They began to walk off, but not before Blaise got to add, "With all the gory details!"

Although it was a fruitless action, it gave me a sense of satisfaction when I stuck out my tongue at his retreating back.

I glanced at my wristwatch. Three thirty. He could never, _ever_ blame me for being late. Ever again.

Five minutes later, Draco Malfoy strolled into the main entrance, hands in his pants pockets. I took great pleasure in assuming an authoritative, slightly condescending tone.

"You're late," I informed him. In turn, he rolled his eyes.

"I come and go as I please, Asher."

"Thanks for making me wait for you."

"You're welcome," He snapped. "Are you going to just stand here and whine about poor time management, or are you coming with me?"

Without waiting for my answer, he swept out of the doors, into the cold late-November chill. Sighing heavily, I trudged after him, keeping my distance from his footfalls. I did, however, call out his attention.

"Hey, um, Draco." I wrinkled my nose. Addressing him by first name was weird. "So, after this, are we even?"

He didn't stop walking, only threw back his head and laughed.

"D'you think I'm stupid? How is you merely accompanying me going to benefit my progress of ulterior motives?"

"I don't…" I sputtered. _I don't know. Maybe so you won't be portrayed as socially inept, baby blonde Scrooge for the rest of your life?_

"Oh, no," He shook his head. "No way, Asher. There's something I need you to do for me."

"Great," I mumbled under my breath.

"Keep up, Asher."

* * *

The walk to the village passed by without much event. Upon arriving there, it seemed like any normal, quaint village in Christmas snow. Shops and pubs lined the long, high street, packed with people in groups, ones and (gag me) couples.

Of course, knowing my state of reality, this wasn't any _normal_ village. But I let the weirdness debate pass. It was pretty nice, actually.

"Just follow me," Draco ordered. "Could you try to keep up?"

"Yeah, okay. Just don't be such a bitch about it," I sniffed. Ignoring the latter part of my reply, he pushed on into the snow, keeping his elbows close to himself. Exhaling a foggy breath, I traced his footsteps unhappily. As far as cool outings went, this was the most unpleasant one I've ever experienced.

He stopped in front of an old pub, with a dark wooden sign above it that signified it was called, "The Three Broomsticks". I cocked a skeptical eyebrow at the boy ahead of me.

"Well?" He smirked. "In you go, Asher."

"A pub?" I snorted. "Classy business transaction venue."

"I meant to spare you a hot drink, but I guess you can just freeze to death out here. " He shrugged. "Bye, then."

I shot him an irritated glare.

"Okay, Asher. Last chance," He snapped. "Zip it or freeze your ass."

"Fine! I'll be quiet," I grumbled. He pushed the door open, the overhead bells tinkling, to reveal a crowded room with tables, chairs and random bar stools scattered around the area. Dust almost visibly lingered in the air, lining the windows and arches of wood. Only two staff people weaved their way around the closed spaces to serve customers: one, a late-aged barman with a receding hairline and a sour expression, and the other, a pretty young lady with blonde locks and a happy smile. Trays of drinks, steaming and thick, were passed around.

I shrugged off my coat, folding it over my arm. Effortlessly, Draco maneuvered himself through the people, bodies seemingly parting for him. I wasn't so lucky in following – I trod on a person's foot and bumped a couple more people's shoulders (one, being the annoyed waitress) before arriving at the table, where Draco was just settling down. I plopped myself down into the chair across, folding my arms across my chest.

"Graceful," He praised, an eyebrow held high.

"I was a ballerina in the past life," I replied.

"And you were also dropped at birth. "

"You-" I started, my cheeks flushing, but the aged barman trotted over to us, beady eyes glinting.

"Anything I can get you two youngsters?" He asked gruffly.

"Two Butterbeers will do," Draco said coolly. The barman nodded, turned on his heel and walked away stiffly.

"Um, beer?" I asked nervously. "Is that really a good idea?"

"I'm not an idiot, Asher. There's no alcohol in it," He rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't hurt to be on the safe side," I shrugged. He shook his head.

"If I survive being with you, I don't think I'm ever doing this again," He muttered unhappily. Ouch. That stung like hell. Leave it to an insensitive boy to kill what remained of my mood.

The barman reappeared later on, holding two mugs of thick, yellow liquid. Frothy cream floated on top, still bubbling. He set them down heavily on the table, and stalked away.

"Bottoms up, Asher," Draco took his mug and raised it to his lips. He must have caught me eyeing it suspiciously, because he added, "It's not poisonous. Just be polite and drink it."

Gingerly, I picked it up and brought it to my nose, sniffing it inconspicuously. It smelled sharp and a little dizzying.

"What does it taste like?" I wondered.

In an irritated fashion, he shrugged. He had begun to drink, and didn't bother swallowing before answering. Hesitantly, I took a sip – immediately, a shot of heat swam through my veins. The taste on my tongue was sweet yet slightly bitter, and creamy. I coughed a little, but enough to seemingly earn another eye-roll moment from Draco.

"Something in your eye?" I inquired testily.

"Not everything revolves around you, Asher," He snapped. "It's Saint Potter."

"Oh, so he's here?" I turned, spotting him immediately. A great, fat figure loomed over him – it seemed as if another session of "Slughorn-Loves-Potter" had begun in the pub. Draco's expression held a great amount of disgust.

"When it comes to sucking up, Potter never takes a day off," He spat. "The git has nothing better to do with his life."

"And you?"

"What?"

"Well, if you hate him getting on the teachers' good sides, why not kiss ass too?" I shrugged. "If you can't lick 'em, join 'em."

"I don't think so," He frowned. "Doing so would be falling to Potter's level."

"I'm just trying to point out that it does work."

"And I'm trying to point out that it's stupid," He sighed. I shook my head. What an assbite.

"Suit yourself," I took another gulp of the drink, feeling my insides thaw again. Draco set his half-empty mug down, and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. Curiously, I moved my head forward, so as to hear him properly.

"I need you to do something for me, Asher," He said, his breath tickling my ear.

"Will it be embarrassing?" I whispered back. I heard him grit his teeth.

"No," He spat, annoyed. "This is serious."

"Okay," I conceded, a little frightened by his tone.

He reached into his inner coat pocket, and, for a scary moment I thought he was going to draw out a gun. Instead, he pulled out a package.

"I'm going to play messenger?" I wondered flatly.

"You have to take this seriously, Asher, or I'll kill you," He warned. "Bring this to the girls' bathroom and leave it by the sink. Make sure _no one_ sees you. Got it?"

"That's it?"

"That's it," He nodded in assent. "Consider your debt paid." I eyed the package, wrapped in brown paper and thin string.

"Who's it for?"

"That's none of your business. Just do it."

"Is it for your girlfriend?"

"Zip it, Asher," He pushed the package to me and pointed to the girls' bathroom door. I sighed and took it, tucked it under my arm and began to march to the door to fulfill my task. "And don't you _dare_ open it!"

I waved a dismissive palm at him, and bumped the door open. It creaked, and it was greeted by the sight of a small, dark bathroom, with tiny cubicles and shiny sinks stuck to the wall. I listened in for any movement, waiting a minute just in case someone was inside.

Sixty seconds passed, and I decided I was alone in the bathroom. Feeling self-conscious, I glanced at my reflection in the dusty mirror before setting it down on the sink, dropping it like a venomous, writhing snake. It lay quite still there, beside the rusty faucet.

I guess that was done with.

I was stepping out of the bathroom when I bumped into another girl on her way in to use the facilities. She looked down at me with great disinterest, and I realized it was my cue to apologize.

"Oh, sorry," I said, stepping out of her way.

Instead of replying like a normal, civilized person, she simply stared at me blankly for a few seconds before pushing her way into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her back.

"Rude," I called out, to no one in particular. I stomped back to the table, where, to my surprise, Draco Malfoy was standing up, leaving change on the wooden table.

"We're leaving already?"

"Yes. Unless you have other, more important plans?" He recounted the shiny coins while saying this.

"All my plans depend on your plans," I admitted unhappily.

"Then we're going," He said with an air of finality. I shrugged on my jacket, zipping it up.

"Are we in some sort of hurry?"

"No," he paused, looking quite thoughtful. "Just that it would be a good idea."

Good idea? Why? I wasn't able to ask, though, because, in the moment I wondered, he strode quickly out the door. Not for the first time that day, I frowned and followed him out.

"So what was in the package?" I tried to keep up with his pace, as he waded through the snow like a fucking trackstar. His grey eyes, colder than anything around us, glanced at me.

"Nothing? You sent me in there on some secret mission to deliver nothing?" I echoed. "I don't believe you."

"Then don't," He frowned. "I don't care much."

Another mean silence threatened to fall upon us, but at that moment, Blaise Zabini decided to approach, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, _fuck_," I mumbled.

"No way, Asher," A mocking tone had already crept into his voice. "_This _is what we were talking about?"

"Shut it, Zabini," I snapped.

"What's all this about?" Draco asked.

"You could have stood to mention the little detail that your _date_ was _Draco Malfoy_."

"I didn't – I mean – I didn't!" I sputtered.

"_Date_?" Draco demanded angrily.

"I was joking!" I cried, my face ready to explode. "You know, when people are in some kinds of moods, they joke. Sometimes."

"Ah, yeah. Right. Joke. Of course," But he winked at me. A growl vibrated at the back of my throat. A hand gripped my shoulder painfully, and I looked up to see Draco's deadpan expression.

"See you later, Blaise," Draco said curtly.

"Don't take it out on me," Blaise chuckled. "Sort out your little LQ first."

"Good_bye_, Blaise," Draco pressed, with much more finality.

"Alright, alright. Later, guys," Blaise chortled. He walked off, but not before giving my arm a good, hard pinch.

"Ow," I hissed, rubbing my arm. Through my peripheral vision, I saw Draco frown down at me.

"Now, I don't know what kind of rumors you've been spreading-"

"I haven't! It was just a stupid joke, honestly, because Blaise was getting on my nerves. I mean, it's not like that. Like, you know. Not like that!" I defended myself nicely.

"Or, perhaps, in the deepest part of your consciousness, you can hardly admit to yourself that you actually did, in fact, hope, or at least that –"

"Total," I growled. "Bullshit."

A slow smirk invaded his lips. "Right. Of course."

Putting that aside, he marched on, letting the fast air whip his face. I stomped gracelessly after him.

"Hey, I'd just like to point out-"

My words, however, were interrupted by a shrill, blood-curdling shriek. It was the kind that could only exist from pure, unspoken terror.

Before I could react, a tightly gripping hand was set on my shoulder, digging painfully into my skin.

I only caught a glimpse of her. It was that girl from the bathroom. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape in a grotesque miming of a silent scream. Her limbs were spread out, arms spreading from her shoulders as though she were crucified invisibly. Hair whipped around her face, dark tendrils blown about by a mini-blizzard.

Oh, and she was in midair.

Only a fraction of a second to take her in – the next, I was being dragged in the opposite direction, up the other side of the street.

"Where are you _going_?" I yelled hysterically.

"We have to get away from here," He answered shortly.

"_What_? Why? Did you even _see _that girl-"

"I saw, Asher!" He burst out. "Look, it's not safe. Just keep walking."

"But-"

"Look," He turned around so abruptly I bumped into him. His grey eyes cut through me, emotions like a hurricane in his pupils. Worry, fear. Anger. Agitation. Frustration. "Look, Asher. Do what I say, and don't get mixed up in this."

"But you were the one who-" He clamed a cold hand over my mouth, and I let out a muffled squeak of surprise.

"As far as anyone knows, you weren't here to see this. This never happened. You were with me the entire time, completely unaware. And," He stared at me, a threatening tone creeping into his chilling voice. "You will _never, ever_ tell anyone."

* * *

**I'm back! Hopefully people still read this?**

**I have some ideas for the oncoming chapters. Yeah, yeah, I know, we all want the Draco love. Don't worry! We'll get there - I'm totally working on it. ;)**

**Reviews! :)**


	11. Party

The walk back to the common room was a vague whirl of snow and stone corridors. My consciousness was focused on trying to understand what happened. A girl was seemingly possessed because of some crazy package. Because of… me? But I didn't know. I never intended to hurt her – I didn't even know what was in it, or hardly what I had been doing. Still, I was the agent. I had willingly volunteered (sort of) myself for the job. But did my lack of knowledge justify my actions?

And what about Draco Malfoy? It was his paper package. Yet, as much of an assbite as he was, possessing people didn't really seem like his style. Besides, what would he have against this girl? I didn't even know if they ever had any contact whatsoever. Could he possibly have not known?

But what about that crazy warning? Pretending that nothing happened, telling no one about it was kind of a stretch. Could he have known? Was he expecting that to happen?

Fuck, man.

"Draco," I said before he entered the portrait hole. He dropped the foot he had lifted in mid-step. "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That would happen."

"To who? Katie Bell?" I nodded. "No, I didn't know it would happen to her."

"So it wasn't that thing you made me put in the bathroom?"

"I guess not."

His back was to me – I didn't know how he felt, if he was lying.

"Then," I added, as a last question. "Will she be okay?"

There was a twinge of regret in his voice when he spoke again. "I don't know."

I left it at that. He climbed into the portrait hole, hand on the back handle. "Are you coming in or what?"

"You go ahead," I muttered glumly. Shrugging nonchalantly, he pulled the portrait door close, leaving me alone in the corridor.

Seriously, that was it? No "_let's do this again sometime_" or "_thanks for the awesome time we had_"? Or, oh, I know – how about, "_sorry for getting you into a shitload of trouble_"?

I crossed my arms across my chest and grimaced at the portrait hole. Rude.

I walked away from the common room entrance, my head bowed. The image of the poor girl caught in mid-air put both a sickening feeling in my stomach, and a cold shiver down my spine. I wanted to get out. I wanted to go home. I _needed_ to be back home, unless I wanted to die a painful death here in this unfamiliar place. And I needed to stay away from Draco Malfoy.

But it seemed as if he hadn't known, hadn't meant that to happen to her. It had even sounded like he'd felt a little sorry for her. Yet, the element of panic escaped him at the scene of the terror – that, in itself was strange…

I was so immersed in my thoughts that I didn't notice the pale hand that shot out from my left. It grabbed my by the collar and, in my shock, I let out a high shriek – even this, though, was cut off by the other hand being clamped over my agape mouth. For a split second, I resigned myself to death.

"Blake!" A voice hissed into my ear.

I quit struggling and looked up into the speaker's face. A pair of green eyes shone down at me.

"What the _fuck_ was that for, Harry?" I demanded angrily, yanking his hand away from my mouth. I thought my comment would be met with a sheepish apology, but all my assumptions seemed to be formulated wrong.

"What did he do to her? What did he do?" The serious, grave look on his face told me now was not the best time to mess with his moods.

"What? Who?"

"Draco Malfoy!" He nearly bellowed in frustration. "What did Draco Malfoy do to Katie Bell?"

So did he assume it was Draco too? But perhaps it was his personal vendetta to the mysterious blonde boy.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Blake! You were with Draco in Hogsmeade. Tell me what he did to her!"

For reasons still unknown to me, I began to feel somewhat defensive on Draco's part. Maybe it was because I didn't just know something, but I had played a part in it, no matter the fact that it was a minor role.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said coldly. "But Draco Malfoy had nothing to do with it."

"But it was him. He's a Death Eater."

"I don't even know what that is," Even the phrase sounded frighteningly taboo. "But I was with him the whole time. He didn't even come near that Katie Bell whoever."

"He didn't have to, to have something happen to her," He snapped. "I know it was him. And I'm sure as hell he's a Death Eater."

"Maybe you've been mistaken," I suggested.

"You said so yourself, Blake. You saw the tattoo," His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "You _know_ he's a Death Eater."

"No, I don't!" I shot back. "That could have been anything. I might have just – it doesn't mean he's… whatever that is."

"But it doesn't make any sense otherwise!" He cried, frustrated.

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend, but Draco really had nothing to do with it." _I think._

Harry Potter's shoulders slumped. He shook his head.

"But it doesn't make any sense," He repeated.

"What happened, Harry Potter?" I asked quietly.

"It was a curse. Katie Bell was cursed," He shook his head. "Some sort of darkly bewitched necklace."

"How did she come across it?"

"No idea. Some package, I'd expect. But she wasn't meant to keep it. She said she was supposed to deliver it."

"To whom?"

"To Professor Dumbledore."

Woah. Harsh. I knew a lot of Slytherins hated him, but enough to want to curse him with a piece of jewelry? Completely below the belt, man.

"So, will she be… okay?"

"I don't know."

He fell silent, his expression saddened. I didn't know what to say – everything had grown completely awkward and awful.

"I'm sorry I scared you," He mumbled.

"It's okay. Just don't do it again or I'll cut off your balls," I joked weakly. He cracked a small smile.

"I'll be keeping that in mind."

"Well, I have to go. I have to, you know," I shrugged. "Sleep off the trauma.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Blake." He shook his head.

"It's not your fault," I assured him.

_No, it's not your fault, Harry Potter. It's mine._

An hour later, I entered the dim common room, my teeth chattering from the cold. Before I rounded the corner, however, my ears picked up a quick and intense conversation. I strained my senses to comprehend what I was hearing.

"… Katie Bell girl was just a minor setback," It was Draco's cold voice, sounding very irked.

"That minor setback could have had you expelled!" The familiar voice of Blaise Zabini had lost its jovial, mocking tone. Now, it was filled with worry and a great amount of agitation.

"I had it all under control," Draco shot back.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. That's why she was hanging thirty feet off the ground, looking like a rabid, possessed maniac."

"I told you, things just didn't work out. But I have it all under control – _You_ just stay out of my damn way."

"Alright," Blaise replied coolly. "But tell me first what Blake Asher has to do with all your little plans."

"Nothing. She's just a pawn."

_Ugh_. Well, _you_ can be the queen in a little skirt, Draco Malfoy.

"Seems a little more than that," Blaise commented.

"It's not. I just needed someone inconspicuous to plant the package."

So what happened to that girl wasn't some freak accident. And Draco didn't just know something – he had _everything_ to do with it. And I, according to him, was the stupid pawn.

"But you have to watch out, Draco. She's not as stupid as Crabbe and Goyle. You have to quit messing around with her or she'll find out. Besides," Blaise warned. "You probably don't want to give her the wrong impression. Or are you really even trying?"

"Meaning what, exactly?" Draco snapped testily.

"Meaning I'm still trying to work out why you told Theodore Nott to stay away from her," Blaise said, never skipping a beat.

"That," He snorted. "Was not a conversation meant for your ears."

"I know things beyond my safe little bubble, contrary to your beliefs."

"If Theodore Nott gets in the way, let's just say the master plan won't happen," Draco said gravely.

"What does that have anything to do with-"

"It _doesn't_. I just need a couple of errands done, okay? Just stop getting in the way

already," And I heard Draco storm off into the boys' dormitory, his footsteps fading into nothingness. I decided at that point that It was safe enough to emerge, clearing my throat.

"Asher," Blaise greeted, missing the air of someone who had just gossiped about me. "Where have you been?"

"Walking," I answered vaguely. "Where's Draco?"

"Sulking in bed, I would imagine," He chuckled. "Not smart to disturb him, I reckon."

"Oh. Shame, what happened to that Katie what's-her-face, am I right?" I ventured in, sounding nonchalant. For a moment, I thought his posture went rigid, but nothing else expressed it was more than a reaction to a bone-chilling gust of wind.

"Yes, shame. But things like that will pass in a week or two."

"Do you think she'll be alright?"

"Yeah, most likely," He ran a hand through his hair. "But perhaps we should stop discussing a sensitive, depressing topic. Have you got any plans for the break, then? Going home?"

"No," I realized I didn't even know where I would be going, if I had to.

"Then you're staying for the break?"

"Yeah, I guess, why?"

"That's great. How do you fancy a little shindig?"

"_Shindig_?" I echoed. "Like, a party?"

"Yes," He grinned. "Exactly like a party."

"You're inviting me to a party? At this date and time?" I snorted. "But _why_?"

"Unfortunately," He sighed. "My beautiful girlfriend happens to be returning home for the Christmas Break, and I need a partner for this party. I'm obviously not going to go with just _any_ girl, so…"

"I'm thinking you think I should be flattered."

"I do, I really think you should," He smirked. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Will it be fun?"

"Hopefully. If not, don't worry," He patted my shoulder. "I'm sure things will rise up to your standards eventually."

I didn't bother asking what mean, mocking things this comment implied. Instead, I just conceded. "Yeah, okay. Is Draco going?"

He snorted. "The man's got plans of his own. Can't be bothered with a dumb party."

"Yeah, he doesn't seem much like the party animal type."

"Oh, he was. Once," He shook his head. "Then he got himself into a shitload of – the point is, he won't be going."

"That's a shame."

"Oh, don't worry, Asher," He chortled. "I won't let any scary, possessed Katie Bells come near you."

I watched him walk to the stairs leading to the dorm, my face somewhat between a suppressed glare and an amused smile.

"Oh, and Blake," He added as an afterthought, one foot on the first step. "Try to wear something appropriate for the occasion. Okay?"

With that, he walked up into the boys' dormitory, leaving me alone in the cold, empty common room.

* * *

Saturday, eight o'clock rolled by, and I was down in the common room, staring blankly at my reflection in the windowpane. Despite Pansy's recent (disastrous) attempts to glamorize herself in odd, slightly frightening fashions, I had to admit that her "gift" (as she termed it before she left for the holidays) was quite the shocker of the day. I ran a hand down the shiny lavender skirt around my waist, the smooth fabric tickling the skin on my fingers. My hair hung around my face, for once, in thick, loose curls. Feeling a little overdressed, and perhaps a little awkward, I adjusted the flimsy shawl around my shoulders.

Blaise descended from the boys' dormitory, fixing the tie around his neck in a professional, carefully practiced manner. A collective sigh may or may not have escaped the third year girls sitting by the hearth. He approached me, an eyebrow raised critically.

"I had to do a double take. I can hardly recognize you," He said dryly. "You never told me you were a real _girl_."

"It must have slipped my mind," I answered back in the same tone. "So you tell me why we're _both_ wearing skirts?"

"It's not a skirt," He snapped. "These are proper dress robes."

"Sorry. Don't you just rent a tuxedo?"

"Pitiful muggle clothing. I'm ashamed of you," He frowned. "This is what you call real class."

"I won't argue, then."

"Shall we?" He offered his arm; I took my time staring at it uncomfortably.

"Why are you suddenly unveiling your inner gentleman?" I asked flatly.

"It's a force of habit. If you'd rather I dragged you by the ear, I could to that as well…"

Awkwardly, I looped my arm through his, and we trooped out of the common room. Only a few people in similarly-themed attire passed us, but they were all whispering about how this party would be the talk of the school for days.

"Is Slughorn really that popular here?" I wondered.

"No, of course not. Crazy, fat dingbat's just waiting to keel over and die," Blaise chortled unabashedly. "It's just that his students are. Popular that is."

"What?"

"Slughorn's got a stupid little club where he, ah, _collects_ all the famous students in this school. Take Potter and that McLaggen kid, if you must. Barking mad, it is, but it's got some perks, I'll admit."

"You're implying that you're part of this club?" He nodded smugly in reply. "And how did _that_ happen?"

"My mother, Blake," He rolled his eyes. "Happens to be an extraordinarily famous witch because of her beauty."

"So you take from your father, then?"

He threw me a contemptuous glare. "Still not too late for me to haul you in via ear pulling."

I made a face. But honestly, though, Blaise wasn't all that bad. In fact, upon closer, much more objective observation, he was, indeed, rather attractive.

"So that's it? You got into the stupid club because of your hot mom?"

"Please don't talk about my mother like that," He sighed tiredly. "Like I said, it's stupid, and kind of pointless. But it does have its occasional benefits, I'll admit."

"Is Draco part of the club?"

"No," He said slowly.

"Is that why he's not going to this party, then?"

Nonchalantly, Blaise stopped walking outside a small wooden door, through which heavy bass music pumped. The party was directly through that door, but we lingered outside for a while.

"Why _are _you so interested, Blake?"

"Is it going to benefit you if you know?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Then why ask if I'm so interested?" I challenged. He snorted.

"I know what you're thinking, Blake," He shook his head. "You think he's hiding something from you. I get it, I know. Well, I'm not going to deny it. But I'm warning you now, Blake, don't get mixed up in the stuff that's going on. He's hiding it for a reason, and if he hasn't told you, then you best keep your nose out of it."

"But _you_ know what they are," I pressed.

"Again, I'm not denying it," He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean I'll tell you."

"Look, I'm not asking for a blow-by-blow heart-out confession from you. I just need to satisfy my curiosity. Just to make sure I'm not going completely insane."

"I'll tell you this much," With a hand gesture, he urged me forward, and we leaned into each other. His face was so close to mine I could almost see the heat transferring. Pale pink lips moved with so much precision, it was mesmerizing. "If you want to stay alive, stay away from Draco Malfoy."

My cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, but that didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. His long fingers trapped my face in his grasp, and his ice blue eyes bore into mine.

"I suggest you fall in love with someone else, Blake Asher."

But as if it never happened, he released my cheeks and straightened up, fixing his tie. I could do nothing but stare, mouth agape, at him. He offered me a roguish grin, like he was completely unaware of what had just occurred.

"Shall we?"

* * *

"Miss Asher!"

Slughorn approached me, his fat belly bouncing off like three people in his way. I waved jovially at him, putting down my glass of punch. "Hello, Professor."

"Splendid, absolutely splendid to see you here, my dear. And you came with…?"

"Blaise Zabini, sir."

"Good, very good!" He chortled. "Enjoying yourself so far?"

"Of course, sir."

"Well, don't be shy, you are most welcome here," He prodded his sausage-like fingers to the snack table. "Have a treat! Dance with someone – oho, it's Mr. Potter! Welcome, Harry!"

Harry Potter walked up to us, holding a pumpkin tart. A big smile crossed his face upon seeing Slughorn – evidently, they were tight.

"Good to see you, m'boy! How are you enjoying the party so far?"

"It's wonderful, sir." Harry said cheerfully.

"Splendid! I was just telling Miss Asher here to come and have a little dance. Have at it, eh, Potter?" He chuckled. Harry managed a weak smile. "I must be off, then. More party guests to entertain – some, I don't even know myself! You two have fun!"

He waddled off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with Harry and the punch bowl. Loud music continued to play from elusive speakers around the vast hall.

"So who brought you?" Harry asked.

"Blaise," I answered. A flicker of irritation crossed his face.

"Something going on between you two?"

"You know there's nothing," I snorted. "Blaise hasn't been much more dangerous than a snickering, teasing monkey, with half the brains. And who did _you_ come with?"

"Luna Lovegood," He answered glumly.

"Who's that?"

"Fifth year. Ron's sister's friend. She's a bit…" He chose his words carefully. "Erm, odd."

"Odd? Well, but do you like her?"

He snorted, then pulled on another sober expression. "No, unfortunately the girl I fancy, she's off limits."

"From another house?"

"No. Forget about it, it's really complicated. Besides, it'll never work out, because she's with someone else already." He seemed to be distracted, then nodded at something behind me. "Heads up, it's Zabini."

Blaise was quickly weaving through the crowd, approaching my position. Instantly, Harry and I distanced ourselves, to avoid another accusation of fraternization with the enemy.

"Hey, Asher, come sit with us. Nott and some of the others are planning to head out for some more _potent_ drinks," He eyed Harry for a brief moment. "By the way, Potter, Snape's looking for you. Perhaps to complete another ten detentions you owe from last month. Happy holidays, then." With that, he took my arm and dragged me away from the punch bowl. I groaned in protest.

"Will you _stop_," He hissed. "Being completely stupid and sticking around Harry Potter? People might assume the wrong things."

"Well, where were _you_ when I decided I needed a decent companion?" I snapped.

"Talking to Theodore Nott," He answered unabashedly. "Who, I think, wants to talk to you."

"Oh, _no_," I waggled a finger. "You are forbidden, I repeat, _absolutely forbidden_ to take on the role of meddling matchmaker. Especially not with that arrogant Theodore Nott guy. Or I will cut what is left of your manhood off and feed it to… to a dragon."

"We have no dragons, you twit," he rolled his eyes. "And hanging out with a snobby Theodore not is definitely a damn sight better than hanging out with Harry fucking Potter."

"And yet, I suppose hanging around harry Potter is a billion times better than hanging around Draco Malfoy?"

"I told you, Blake!" He spat frustratedly. "You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ get with Draco Malfoy. "

"Woah, I never said I wanted to!"

"Then quit liking him!"

"I never said that I did!"

You know that saying, "_speak of the devil, and the devil will appear"_? At this moment, it would probably be best to replace the subject of the sentence with "Draco Malfoy".

Because, boy, did he ever appear.

"_Get your filthy hands off me, you squib!_"

Not necessarily in the most graceful, cool fashion – in fact, it was pretty much the opposite. His collar came before the rest of his body, gripped by the zombie-looking caretaker, Argus Filch. The way in which he was dragged was particularly undignified.

The whole room fell quiet. Every head turned to stare at him in shock and confusion. He looked disgruntledly at Professor Snape, in the middle of the room, then to an exasperated Blaise who swore under his breath. Then, he looked at me. Unknown to myself, I reddened.

"Blaise," I hissed. "I need to use the ladies' room."

"The what?" He mumbled distractedly.

"The – oh, _nevermind_."

Slughorn pushed his way to the front, looking like a half-tipsy mess. He eyed the irritated, guilty look on Draco's face, and the expression of gleeful triumph on Filch's.

"What's all this rubbish then?"

"Professor," Filch rasped, barely able to contain his joy. "I found this student wandering around the corridors of this floor. Think he's up to something, hm?"

"I'm not up to anything!" Draco growled, violently yanking himself away from the caretaker, who sneered.

"What're you doing, sneaking around the corridors, eh?" Filch demanded.

"I was just-" For once, he seemed flustered and at a loss for words. "I was just trying to gatecrash, okay? Are you happy?"

Filch bared his ugly, uneven teeth at Draco, as though threatening he'd take a chunk out of the boy's face. Luckily, Slughorn was quick to intervene.

"It's quite alright, Argus!" He waved his fat hand quickly. "Let the boy be. Mr. Malfoy is most welcome to share the holidays with us!"

"Actually," Snape interjected wearily. "I think it would be best if I had a little chat with Draco. If you don't mind, Horace."

"Not at all, Severus."

"Come, Draco," Professor Snape said, his tone clipped.

"Yes, _Professor,_" Draco spat angrily. Together, they swept out of the hall, all eyes on them. The great door creaked shut, and it was only then that the buzz of conversation resumed.

"That was kind of weird." I observed. Blaise exhaled loudly through his nose.

"Right," He snapped. "Where was I?"

"You were saying something about Draco Malfoy, I think."

"Oh. Well, never mind it, then," He said absently.

"Then can I go to the bathroom?" I asked, a sheepish smile creeping onto my face.

"Yeah, whatever," He sighed. "Could you hurry up, though? I feel like going. This party's a total drag."

"I'll be back," I promised, then walked out the door, into the dark, cold corridor.

Okay, don't judge me. I'm not a regular stalker-slash-eavesdropper. But seeing as what had happened had really just happened, I thought this was a more special case. I just really needed to put some of my innate curiosity at ease.

I pulled off my noisy shoes and, carrying them, tiptoed through the hall, ignoring the freezing surface of the stones. I felt like my breathing was amplified tenfold. My skirt was rustling in the wind like a paper bag. If I were a spy, I'd be totally fired.

But, hey, I got somewhere.

A low and intense conversation permeated the chilly silence. Even though it was carried out in whispers, the anger the words carried was thick, and too evident.

"… Mother asked me to protect, you, Draco," Professor Snape said in an icy tone. "I will not break that promise."

"I don't need your protection!" Draco spat. "I have it under control!"

"So it seems."

"You're talking about the Katie Bell girl. I told you, I had nothing to do with it."

"And yet all suspicions point to you?"

"Well, I didn't do it! And stop treating me like a child."

"You aren't ready for this. Please, Draco, stop what you are doing. I beg of you," Snape's voice took on a strangely anxious edge. Draco scoffed.

"No, you just have to stop getting in my way."

"Then let me help you." Snape offered.

"I don't need your help!" Draco retorted. "I don't need anyone's help! I need to do this _alone_."

"But you cannot achieve this alone."

"I know what you're trying to do!" Draco suddenly exclaimed angrily. "You're trying to steal all my glory!"

"Please, Draco!" Snape chastised him.

That was the last thing I heard before the door to Slughorn's party swung open, and light scattered through the darkness. The defined silhouette of Blaise Zabini stepped out from the doorway.

"Asher?" He called out, sounding annoyed.

In an impulse, I departed from my station and hurried over to him, my face feeling warm and uncomfortable.

"Sorry," I panted, skidding to a halt in front of him. He eyed me suspiciously.

"Why are you barefoot?"

"Foot ache," I lied. "You'd have one too, if you'd been standing on heels all night." I slipped my shoes on.

"Are you drunk?"

"What?" I stared. "No!"

"You haven't been throwing up in the bathroom, have you?"

"Of course not!" I rolled my eyes. "I haven't drunk anything the least bit alcoholic."

"Only checking," He shrugged, then took my waist, just as a proper gentleman might have.

"Do I detect a hint of concern, Blaise?"

"Careful, Asher, your head is on backwards."

"Thought so," I snorted.

As we walked off, I risked a quick glance back at the once-occupied corridor. But all I saw was an open maze of stone, that held mere darkness.


	12. Accident

The following morning felt like a true party hangover, with my head spinning like a top on eternal rerun. I didn't even understand how I was able to haul myself out of bed, but I managed in the end. There were only two of us left in the girls' dorm – me, and a nosy little fifth year girl who asked me if I was having some sort of pre-marital love affair with Blaise Zabini.

"I mean, I won't tell her," she had promised, though there was that barely concealed glint of malice in her eyes.

"You don't have to not tell her anything," I snapped, climbing into bed. "I already told you. Blaise is just this pain in the ass that happens to be my friend."

"But, I mean," She had pressed on. "You guys _always _hang out. You look close. I mean, really, _really _close."

_And you are really, **really**__stupid._ "Of course we hang out. That's what friends usually do." I'd replied.

"Don't you find him the slightest bit attractive?"

"Sure," I'd snorted. "Like a monkey's behind."

We'd ended up leaving it at that. Anyway, I descended the cold steps into the common room, yawning as I pulled on a thick woolen sweater. Only the telltale embers of an overnight fire died in the room. The place was almost empty, as everyone had chosen to return to their families, save about a handful.

"Good morning, Blake," Blaise said cheerfully from behind me. Unlike myself, sporting a stuffy nose and popping ears, he seemed quite well – aglow, even. I decided to point this out.

"You're unusually chipper today," I raised my eyebrows.

"Of course I am! It's Christmas!" He rolled his eyes. I gave my forehead a hard smack – of course! How could I have forgotten?

"Oh, _shit_," I hissed angrily at myself.

"Looks like someone came unprepared for the holidays," He observed. "Lucky for you, I'm not expecting a gift of sorts from your pocket. Well, not yet. Anyway, but here – enjoy yourself, I suppose."

He tossed it so quickly I barely had time to react. The box nearly missed the tips of my fingers, but I held onto it.

It was small, no more than the palm of my hand in dimension. There was no card, just simple, thin golden string wound around it and knotted into an artistic ribbon.

"Wow," I whistled. "When did you have time to go shopping? And for me?" I wondered incredulously, tugging on the string.

"I don't waste all my valuable time being idle, thanks very much."

"I never said you did. Oh, sweet," I added, pulling out from the box a shiny gold bracelet, completely bare except for a singly charm dangling from the middle hook – a flat, silver letter '_B_', I supposed, for Blake. "It's so pretty. But… well…"

Ever since the Katie Bell necklace shit incident, I'd been way apprehensive about jewelry, especially when it came from other people. Draco didn't seem like the "deadly cursed accessory type", but then again, h had played some part in it, which bothered me immensely. Blaise, as his friend, seemed to be an immediate candidate for suspicion, and decided to answer my unasked question at his own prompting.

"Not to worry," He assured me. "No curses or enchantments. If you must know, I bought it at the engraving shop for a galleon in Hogsmeade. Besides, admittedly, I'm not _that_ good at magic."

I gave him a weak smile, and clasped the bracelet in my palm.

"Thanks a bunch, Blaise."

"Here, I'll put it on," He offered, walking over to me. With surprisingly delicate movements, he wound it around my wrist and linked the latches together. The gold reflected the thin sunlight streaming through the window.

"It's great. Thank you."

"Yeah well," He shrugged modestly. "I guess after a few months with someone like you, you kind of grow on me just a little bit. And I did feel kind of bad for basically forbidding you to come into intimate contact with Draco. _Maybe_ I owe you. Just a bit."

"So," I said, trying to appear nonchalant. "Does that mean you take it back?"

He pursed his lips. "No way in hell. I am going to bind you to a wall of steel before anything happens."

"Like what?"

"Like if you do something really stupid, like kiss him, or-"

"Okay, forget I even asked."

"Seriously, Blake. I'm sorry that I seemed like some hellbent possessed maniac or whatever by trying to keep you away from him, but you have to trust me. The love of your life-"

"Back up, I don't-"

"Okay, the _hypothetical_ love of your life," He rolled his eyes. "Should really be bumped off from the spot. You might find the romance pitifully one-sided. And to be honest, I don't fancy being in between the instance where you're crying on my shoulder while I'm listening to Draco hark on about how much he detests your incompetence and – oh, sorry."

_Yeah, because I didn't see that one coming_. "Thanks for the heartwarming advice, Blaise. Not that it's necessarily helpful to me."

"It's just food for thought, Blake," He shrugged. "Brutal, but nonetheless true."

"You're mean to me. It's brutal, but nonetheless true," I replied. "And you know what? How about we stop talking about such a painfully uncomfortable topic, and really just enjoy the holidays?"

His face broke into a wide, attractive grin. "Right you are, Asher. Spot of breakfast, then?"

"Awesome," I agreed. Swinging an arm around my shoulders, he led me out of the common room and into the empty corridors. We passed by the familiar portrait of the sleeping dragon, making our way into the Great Hall. Lines of sunlight streamed in through the tinted windows, causing a winter rainbow to shine on the snow floors we walked on.

Entering the great hall was unusual – the mile long tables were empty somewhat, with only a few individuals finishing their heavy breakfasts. Blaise trooped me to the Slytherin table, where a dark-haired boy named Theodore Nott and two other (slightly stupid looking) friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sat.

"Hey, guys," Blaise greeted them, swinging his long legs over the bench and settling himself down. Theodore Nott gave him a quick nod, and the other two let out a simultaneous, practiced grunt of no consequence.

"See you've got company, Zabini," Theodore Nott observed.

"See you haven't," Blaise retorted in an excessively charming manner. "Jealous, are you? Where's your girlfriend gone? Oh, that's quite right – you haven't got one."

"Love the personality," Theodore Nott said dryly. "Fetching, really."

I sat down as they had this little argument, piling my plate high with food.

"So, are you the Blake Asher that Draco's been tutoring for Potions Class?" Theodore leaned in on his elbows, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess so, yeah."

"Wow," He glanced at Blaise, who smirked annoyingly. "You're really not as bad as he made out."

"Meaning? I guess I don't look half as loony?" I snapped. "Thanks for that assessment."

"Wow, you're welcome," He replied smoothly. "Though I don't see why Draco would make something like that up. I thought you'd be a, I don't know, short, unattractive no-brainer with as much looks as the backend of a – point is, seems I was mistaken."

"Sure hope so," I snorted, torn between laughter and annoyance. I tore off a piece of toast and chewed on it thoughtfully, deciding now would be as good a time as any other to ask. "Where _is_ Draco, anyway?"

Beside me, Blaise emitted a grave, heavy sigh.

"Honestly? Haven't a clue," Theodore Nott shrugged. "Always has business of his own of some sorts, that one. Missing half the time from practice nowadays."

"What does it matter?"

"He's a Seeker," As if I knew exactly what this meant, I nodded. "Bloody good one at that, actually. But, hey, when you've got more important things to do as he does, like when he-"

"Hey, Nott," Blaise interrupted loudly, just as I was growing hopeful for some sort of slip-up epiphany. "Heard you've got yourself a little outing tonight, am I right?"

"Of course you did, Zabini. You planned the route out," Theodore Nott smirked.

"Are you going to invite some girls?"

"All the year's out for holidays, so no."

"Well, you can invite Blake, she isn't going anywhere for sure," Blaise gestured to me. I swallowed my bread and cast him a threatening look, which was, of course, ignored. "She can keep a secret, I promise."

"Actually, to be honest, I don't-" But my lame lie of an excuse was quickly overlapped by Theodore's voice.

"Yeah, why not?" He said, shrugging. "How's about it, Blake? You drink, don't you?"

"Actually, no-"

"Of _course _she drinks," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Nott."

"All right, all right. Keep it on," He raised his palms up in defeat, and then grinned at me. "Later, Blake."

"Wait, but I don't want-"

"Later, Nott," Blaise replied, patting my shoulder heavily. Theodore Nott gave me a nod and stood, walking out of the great hall flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Blaise, I really don't feel very comfortable hanging out with Theodore Nott," I informed him flatly as soon as the latter was out of earshot.

"That's too bad, man," He munched on a potato wedge. "He fancies you, that Nott. Odd, because of everything Draco says when he comes back from tutoring you. Nasty stuff."

"Oooh, can I guess? Does it have something to do with my incompetence, stubbornness, rudeness and overall exudation of the air of "freak"?"

"To that general effect, yes," He put down his fork lightly, then turned to me. "I think you should take this advantage to forget about your interest in Draco."

"I am not," I replied hotly. "_interested_ in Draco."

"Okay, okay, I see," He tapped his lip lightly. "Suppose that's _not_ the reason why you blush whenever he's mentioned, am I right?"

I couldn't stop it – my cheeks turned so warm. "Look, I just want to know what he's trying to hide, okay?"

"And then what will you do Blake?" He demanded, frustrated. "_What will you do_?"

"Nothing! I just – I need to know, okay? It bugs me. Whatever."

"What _do_ you plan to do, Blake?" He asked, his voice dropping to a purring whisper. "Do you intend to stop him from what he's doing, change him into a better man, thaw his heart so that he'll fall desperately head over heels for you, and in the process, you'll make him see the right path?"

I couldn't tell if he was making fun of me – his voice was so intensely low and serious that I had to take it as so. Pale, cold hands rose up and trapped my face quite tightly in between them. I made a sound that was a cross between surprise and disgruntlement.

"Or, will you accept him for who he is, stay by his side and help him to rise up to his full potential?" He leaned in and allowed his icy stare to freeze up most of my soul. "Will you approach him right now and confess your undying love for him, proclaim your true feelings and then completely win over his heart? Will you be his companion for life, his partner-in-crime, and promise to be with him in whatever may happen, in whatever he plans to do?"

A scary silence punctuated his case scenarios, and I felt my brain go numb. I meant to say something in either protest or reply (something _really_ witty, like, 'huh?'), but he quickly beat me to it. Swooping down, he eliminated the gap and pressed his lips to mine.

Perhaps it would be appropriate to further describe the feeling – physically, emotionally, and mentally. Or, maybe, even just how it happened, how it went about, and how I reacted. It would be time-consuming, pointless, but entertaining, nonetheless.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The only thing that would sum it up would probably go somewhere along the lines of:

_So. Fucking. Awkward_.

It probably only lasted a few seconds, but those few seconds were coated with general uncomfortability. When he detached himself, he leaned his cool forehead on my burning one.

"Neither is a good idea, really."

And then he resumed his meal, as if nothing more than a gust of wind happened. I blinked about twenty thousand times that moment, watching him clear his plate with an expression of horror and shock.

"What was that for?" I croaked.

Avoiding the question pointedly, he said, "Hey, at least I know you don't swing that way!"

"Hey!"

"Jesus, don't take it so seriously, Blake," He ruffled my hair. "Stop dwelling on it. But if Theodore Nott kisses you later, you really have to participate more. You're falling just a little above boring."

"Oh my God," I snapped. "You-"

"Later!" He said cheerfully, swinging his legs over the bench and strolling smartly out of the great hall.

* * *

"D'you mind?"

I turned my head, squinting through the light fall of snow around me. I shook my head, and scooted over, brushing the snow on the bench with my butt. Harry Potter tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets, and sat down beside me.

"What're you doing out here?" He asked me.

"I could ask you the same thing," I smiled slightly. "Just dwelling over a few things. What about you?"

"Same. Funny, I haven't seen you since Slughorn's party."

"Harry Potter," I snorted. "That was just yesterday."

"I know that," He laughed. "Seemed like a lifetime ago, though. The days are stretching over. Anyway, Happy Christmas, Blake. I've a little something for you."

Carefully, he extracted a small packaged from his pocket, and passed it to me. I weighed it out on my palm.

"You really shouldn't have."

"But I did," He nodded at it. "Go on, open it. It's not much, but I mean, it's useful. I hope."

Smiling, I tore out the wrapping and let the object fall into my hands. It looked like a small top that glowed rather ominously. I rolled it around my palm for a moment, while Harry explained.

"It's a sneakoscope, something like a dark magic lookout. When any untrustworthy person comes near it, it should start spinning. And whistling."

We waited for a while, and watched it as it lay quite still on my palm.

"I guess you're not untrustworthy," I grinned. "Thank you very much, Harry. But… I haven't really gotten anything for you."

"It's fine, Blake."

I pocketed the sneakoscope, patting the bulk in my coat. Harry leaned back and exhaled a wispy breath of steam.

"So what's going on between you and Blaise Zabini?"

I pursed my lips, suddenly interested in my snow-covered lap. "What're you talking about?"

"I didn't really miss your little scene in the Great Hall. No one did, actually."

"You're exaggerating," I frowned. "I think it was just to prove a point. I mean, he has a girlfriend, doesn't he?"

"What's your point?"

"What's _yours_?"

"Okay, okay," He sighed in defeat. "What about Theodore Nott?"

"What about him?" I challenged.

"You tell me!" He smiled, rolling his eyes.

"I think he's kind of weird." I shrugged nonchalantly.

"'_Kind of'_ being the more operative phrase," He laughed. "But I'm curious."

"Everyone's curious, that's human. Proceed." I grinned.

"You don't fancy anybody?"

"Who told you that?" I rubbed my eye. "Of course I do. But _you_ have to tell me first. Yours, I mean."

He let out a loud laugh. "No _way_, Blake!"

"Dude, come on!" I pleaded. "It'll be like a trade. A secret trading thing. Anyway, I bet you mine's ten times more embarrassing – no, a hundred times."

"I highly doubt it."

"Okay, wait, so what I know about this person is that she's a Gryffindor…"

His green eyes were glinting with a hint of mischief as he spoke. "Okay, okay. It's Ginny Weasley."

"Who's that?"

"She's this fifth year girl who-"

"Wait, wait," I said slowly, thoughtfully. Isn't Weasley the last name of-?"

"Yeah," He muttered. "She's Ron's sister."

"Woah. Total. _Mindfuck_." I said, awed. "So why aren't you guys hooking up at this moment?"

"It would just make things awkward between us," He admitted. "Besides, she's – ah, she's dating someone else."

"So what if she is?" I shrugged. "I'm sure you're ten times more _fabulous_, right?"

"I doubt that seriously," He chuckled. "But thanks for trying."

I sighed and adjusted my position uncomfortably. "Do I really _have_ to?"

He shot me a meaningful look. "We had a deal. Spit it out, then."

"Please don't laugh at me, I can't take unspoken criticism," I pouted.

"What could _possibly_ be more embarrassing than fancying your best friend's already-taken younger sister?"

"It's Draco Malfoy."

A pregnant pause ensued gracefully around us. An astounded expression seemed permanently planted on his face. His lips opened and closed wordlessly – it seemed almost certain that he was having a stroke.

"_Draco Malfoy_?" He whispered. "You're… You're not _joking_?"

"Well, no," I reddened. I realized this was the first time I'd ever admitted it to anyone – even to myself. It was embarrassing, but a wave of relief washed over me. However, this moment of false euphoria popped like a bubble when Harry Potter burst out.

"No way, Blake," He said angrily. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You _can't _like Draco Malfoy."

"I can't _help _it," I replied in my defense. "It wasn't so much a choice as it was an involuntary effect."

"Do you really want to fall in love with a Death Eater whose father is in Azkaban? Do you want to be with someone who just recently hurt an innocent student? Who wants to kill someone? Who is trying to find a way to get rid of me?"

"It's not fair to accuse someone who hasn't been proven guilty, Harry," I said, my voice quivering slightly. "Anyway, what the hell is Azkaban?"

"You've mixed yourself up in the bad lot, Blake," He warned me. "Liking Draco Malfoy would kill you. _Literally_."

I sat there, stunned at his words. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know what it is you have for Malfoy, but whatever it is, you have to stop," He shook his head. "Can you do that? For yourself?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. He stood up and brushed the snow off his clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Inside," He said flatly. "Stay careful, Blake. The next time he comes around, that might just start acting up."

He pointed to the bump of the sneakoscope in my coat, shaking his head and sighing.

"Merry Christmas, Blake."

* * *

I'd decided to sleep the afternoon off. Sprawled across the couch of the common room, I'd dozed in and out to the ever-present sound of a warm, crackling fireplace. I'd awoken to a couple of people going in and out, but paid them no mind. I'd nearly succumbed to REM when I felt a breath tickle my ear, and a soft voice whispered to me.

"Asher. Wake up."

My eyes fluttered open, and I found my face face-to-face with the familiar ice-blue pupils of Blaise Zabini.

"What's going on?" I yawned. "What time is it?"

"Five to midnight. You've been knocked out, practically." He grabbed my elbow and pulled me up. "Let's get going, then."

I looked at him in confusion, and he let out a heavy breath.

"Good God, Blake Asher. You haven't forgotten, have you? Of course you have," He clicked his tongue. "You and I are sneaking out for a little excursion. Remember Theodore Nott?"

Oh, frick, yeah. "Do I really have to?" I whined. He yanked me to a semi-proper standing position, looking reproachful.

"Oh, you are _not_ chickening out of this one, Blake. Put on your coat, and let's be off, follow?" As he said this, he pushed my overcoat into my arms. Grumbling, I slid my arms into the thick sleeves, wrapping my body with the wool. No sooner had I finished fastening the last button, Blaise took my wrist and half-dragged me out of the Slytherin Common Room.

"Why are you so excited? All you're going to do is drink and freeze to death," I wondered.

"I've been cooped up in this place for too long. I need a damn break," He replied. I meant to ask something else, but he whipped out his wand and tapped the stone wall to his left. "Give me a bit of light."

"A bit of what?"

"Light," He repeated impatiently.

"Okay, but how? I don't have a flashlight."

"Your _wand_," He snapped, looking at me like, for the first time, he realized I was bonkers. Sheepishly, I pulled out my wand from my jeans pocket.

"_Lumos_," I whispered, feeling like a class-one fool. The tip of my wand glowed brightly, casting light over the dark corridor. I watched Blaise run his hand over the wall, his fingers tracing movements over the cracks.

"_Specialis Revelio_," He murmured, and the wall shimmered to reveal a small stone passageway.

Obviously, things like these are normal around here.

"In you go, love," He prodded me with the tip of his wand. I shook my head, mortified.

"No way, man. You first."

"Aw, are you scared, Blake?" He teased. "D'you want me to hold your hand as you sob your girlish tears?" I made a face at him.

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to take a rain check."

I squared my shoulders and stepped into the passageway, stooping to avoid hitting my head on the low ceiling.

"Well, don't just _stand_ there, idiot. Start walking already," He ordered, clearly amused. I took a few steps in, holding my breath as I did so. Suddenly, I grew blind – the light from my wand had extinguished, and the entrance had sealed itself shut. Instinctively, I let out a sound that suspiciously reminded me of a shriek drowned in a heart attack that caught inside my throat.

"Blaise?" I called out, my voice panicked.

A cold hand gripped my wrist tightly, and I jumped.

"Relax, I'm right here," Blaise's voice echoed through the darkness. "The passage probably kills magic. Never mind, just follow me."

It wasn't too difficult to do this; his grasp never left my skin, and I was pulled all the way. Still it felt like forever had ended when we finally emerged from the darkness, out into the harsh chill of the outdoor night.

"Wh-where a-are we-e?" I demanded, my teeth chattering. Blaise turned to me, grinning mischievously.

"Out of grounds."

A few yards away, a fiery orange fire blazed, helping three figures huddled around it to keep from the cold. Loud chatter carried from there to our ears by the wind drew us closer. Theodore Nott, holding a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like vodka was the first to notice us, lifting a hand to wave us over.

"Hey, you made it alright!" He greeted.

"Yeah, no thanks to you. I think Asher's blood has turned solid already," Blaise chuckled.

"Hey, Blake," He winked roguishly at me.

"Hello," I answered flatly.

"I saved a seat for you – here," He patted a patch of grass (that looked nothing like a proper seat should) beside him. "Come and warm yourself."

"Go on, Blake," Blaise urged, pushing me. Stiffly, I sat down.

"Introductions," Theodore announced, gesturing to his companions. "Adrian Pucey, he's on the Quidditch Team. Thomas White, son of the Head of the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. You already know Blaise, of course."

"'Sup," I mumbled. A sound of assent rose up.

"I suppose now is a good time to break out the alcohol," Adrian Pucey smirked, rummaging through what looked like an ordinary school bag, and pulling out four glass bottles, similar to the one previously in Theodore Nott's possession. H began to pass them around, and held one out to me.

"What is it?" I asked in a small voice. He and Thomas White burst out in loud guffaws.

"_What is it_, she asks," Thomas White snickered.

"Bloody joker, this one," Adrian Pucey agreed.

I stared, dumbfounded. Only Theodore bothered to inform me, saying, "It's firewhiskey. Strongest alcohol they make today."

"Can I die drinking it?" I asked worriedly. Theodore Nott chuckled.

"Only if you're not careful," He pushed the bottle into my hands. "Bottoms up, Blake."

Across me, Blaise offered me a quick thumbs up. I assumed he thought I was handling it well, despite my obvious terror.

Everyone had begun drinking – even Theodore Nott was silenced, gulping down his drink. Slowly, I raised my bottle's rim to my lips, and took a first, cautious sip.

You know that part in the Twilight Series, when that Bella Swan chick rambles on about how, when she turned into a vampire, she felt like she was on fire, burning to a crisp, practically shriveling to a mass of lumpy, used charcoal, etcetera? Well, you know, don't hate on that bitch, because the feeling _sucks_. Because that was probably the best way to describe the feeling of firewhiskey in my body – except, you know, I wasn't dying (I think), and I sure as hell was not turning into a really hot and sexy blood-sucking monster that sparkled in the sunlight (Jesus, this sucks. I don't even get to hunt bitches and moan about an eternity with Edward screwing Cullen after this crappy feeling? Give me a break).

Tears sprang into my eyes, and I felt like my entire throat had just caught fire. I felt like I was being dryly suffocated on the inside. I was pretty sure that my entire body was caught in a wildfire, and that I would for sure spontaneously combust any moment in. I hacked out a heavy, urgent cough, gasping for breath. Not even the cold of the midnight winter could save me from the experience.

"Are you okay, Blake?" Nott asked, detaching his lips long enough from his bottle to talk to me.

"I think I'm going to explode," I choked.

"First time?" When I nodded, he said, 'Then don't worry, the feeling passes. And when it does, it'll feel _great_."

"How long?"

"You'll be good after the first couple of bottles."

_That long_? "No thanks." I mumbled. Resentfully, I planted the bottle down on the ground, shaking my head in refusal.

"You have no fire in you, Blake Asher," Blaise commented. "Excuse the pun."

"I have no love for nursing hangovers," I retorted.

"Suit yourself," He shrugged, and downed the rest of his drink.

The night wore on, and the wind quieted, the chill of the winter pressing down on us. Everyone around me grew more and more intoxicated, to the point of slurred words, attempted suicides and a disturbing attack via Theodore Nott's lips on my cheek.

"I'm going back," I announced loudly, and quite angrily.

Blaise, who seemed the least affected by far, looked up at me with dazed eyes.

"I'll go with you," he offered, making to stand.

"No, that's okay, Blaise. Thanks," I waved him down. I foresaw I'd be the one lugging his dead-weight body into the school, and not the other way around.

He nodded, eyes bleary, and disappeared; his head a right angle from his neck as he threw it back to down his firewhiskey.

"How about a good night kiss, Blake?" Theodore Nott hiccupped. Pointedly ignoring him, I pulled on my coat, bid them goodbye, and walked off towards the castle.

I couldn't find a way to use that secret passageway we had before, so I was ultimately forced to peruse the main entrance. Tiptoeing through the halls made me feel like a spy, minus the awesome background music. It felt a little safe, traveling through the dark, until, of course, my miniscule amount of luck ran out.

"Who's there?" A stream of light soon followed the hoarse voice of caretaker Argus Filch up ahead. His lantern swung around, casting a yellowish glow about the corridor. "Come out, and show yourself!"

As if it could give me away, I held my breath and ran blindly in the opposite direction. His footsteps echoed loudly, and I could swear he was right behind me. A deep sense of dread filled me as I realized I had no idea where to go.

I stood, lost beyond belief, in the middle of a fork in the road. Argus Filch seemed to be everywhere at once.

"_Asher_?"

My head snapped to the left – Draco Malfoy stood there, apparently thunderstruck by my presence.

"I'm gonna get you now," Filch's voice cackled from behind me. In a moment of panic, Draco grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside. Dragging me along, he walked so quickly through the corridor, I felt like I was running a marathon. His silent footsteps came to a halt as he stopped at the turn of the corner. With one cold, pale hand, he covered my mouth, as if my life were escaping my lips.

A moment of tension passed, and we waited for Filch to walk away, muttering unhappily in his disappointment. Only then did Draco release my lips – when he did, a confrontation was already in order.

"What the _hell_," he demanded. "Are you _doing_, Asher? Are you fucking _stupid_?"

"Oh, God, thank you," I gasped, my voice shaking. "Shit, I was so butchered if –"

"Do you mind telling me why you're sneaking around?"

"I just came from outside."

"Outside," He echoed, looking angry and murderous.

"With Theodore Nott and-"

"Oh, that lot," He shook his head. "Yes, Nott told me. Also that you would be there. Obviously, he didn't bother considering my advice to him."

"What advice?" I asked.

"I kindly warned him to stay away from you," He replied in a heartbeat.

"Why? I'm not contagious, don't worry," I spat out resentfully.

"The reason is none of your concern."

"What were _you_ doing outside, anyway? It's way too late for prefect patrol."

"That," He said darkly. "Is none of your concern either."

"You were sneaking around as much as I was," I accused.

"Hardly," He snorted. I was merely returning to the common room for a good night's sleep. Which, of course, was ruined by you, thank you."

"But where from?" I pressed.

"Mind your own business," He turned away. "Good night, Blake Asher."

He made to walk smoothly away, but I called out to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" I growled. "You're such a two-faced hypocrite."

His voice was cold when he spoke. "Strong words, little girl."

"You're totally getting on my case because I'm out the same time as you? That's rich, dude. You can't even own up to the fact that you're doing something bad – and it's not just some one-time thing either. You've been out so many times they should leash you."

"And this official information comes from someone who… is following me?"

"You're so conceited too!" I said hotly. "Why can't you just get off my back? Why do you go around telling people I'm, like, stupid? I'm not, okay?"

"You aren't stupid, Asher. You're just remarkably ignorant, and a little bit air-headed. Which gives your dull personality a little more flavor, though I must admit the seasoning's a bit strong." He scoffed.

"I'm not ignorant. I know you're hiding something."

"I don't need to divulge all my secrets to you, Blake Asher. Just retreat into your fantasy world, and live your life in the bliss of ignorance."

I stepped up to his back, which was straight and cold-postured.

"You know what? I don't even _care_ anymore."

His head tilted a fraction. "Sorry?"

"I don't even _care _what you're hiding anymore. I seriously can't even give a damn," I announced. He turned to me, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"You are _beyond _drunk."

"I have been so intent on trying to figure out your secret. I've even tried to crack Blaise, which, by the way, hasn't worked. I keep thinking about what it is that you're doing so religiously at night. It's driving me crazy. _You're_ driving me crazy," I shook my head. "But I am totally giving up. I am so done with trying to understand you. I don't care if you think I'm retarded, or whatever it is."

"If it rocks your boat," He snorted. "I don't care."

"But I just have to tell you. I can't figure out why, but I can't stop thinking about you. I keep thinking it's because you piss me off-"

"I'm not too interested in this subject matter."

"I really actually don't care if you are. But you're listening to me," I replied. "So you just have to know, that I sort of had this epiphany as to why that's so."

"Congratulations. Shall I shake your hand?" He said drily.

I have no idea where I got the balls to do it. Maybe the amount of firewhiskey I'd consumed had begun to take its toll, albeit slightly delayed. Whatever it was, I found myself stepping up to him, my face tilted up to look into his eyes, which were deep grey storm clouds. I raised my trembling hands to his face, my fingers brushing the cold skin of his cheeks. In a burst of emotional adrenaline, I leaned in and met his lips with mine.

It only took a brief moment, enough for, at most, one blink. Pulling away, he leaned his forehead against mine, his expression completely unreadable. I thought for a while, something miraculous would happen, and for once, I could feel that things went well.

"I need to go."

Detaching my hands carefully from his face, he set them gently down on my side. He backed away, fixing his collar and clearing his throat.

"Have yourself a good night, Blake Asher."

And all he did was turn around, and resolutely walk away.

* * *

Author's Note: Holy FUUU-

Draco, how could you even. On Blake's behalf, please grow some balls.

Tell me what you think!

Aimee


	13. Confessions

"You are unbelievable, Blake Asher."

The look on Blaise's face was something of a cross between annoyance and exasperation, tinged with only the slightest amount of amusement. Still, whatever frustration he felt as a product of my little tale was most evident on his expression.

Having been unable to sleep the previous night, I'd walked into breakfast looking more stoned than he was. Something like concern had injected itself into his voice when he asked me what happened to me. I guess he half expected I would just shrug it off or just say that I had a nightmare, and then he'd leave me alone.

What I did? I plopped down on the seat, turned to him, and blurted out the entire story.

"What part of 'you are forbidden from Draco Malfoy' did not come through so clearly to you, exactly?" He asked.

"It wasn't a choice as much as an accident," I said defensively.

"So you _accidentally _gave him a good, hard smack on the lips, am I right?"

"I was tipsy," I sniffed.

"You didn't drink more than half a shotglass!"

"Okay! But what do I do?" I wailed.

"I don't know. Do you believe in God?" He wondered.

"What?" This wasn't a question of faith; it was a dilemma of sorts. I had no idea what God had anything to do with me suddenly kissing Draco Malfoy out of the blue.

"Now would be a particularly good time to consider suicide. Or perhaps nunnery."

"I'm being serious!" I snapped.

"Like I'm not?" He rolled his eyes. "What you did was crazy, Blake. _Crazy. _C-R-A-"

"I know how to spell 'crazy', I'm not retarded!"

"Could've fooled me!" He shot back. "What you need to do now, Blake, is – listen closely to me, alright?"

"Uh huh," I said, chewing on my bottom lip.

"…Is jump off the Astronomy Tower."

"Ugh!" I exclaimed angrily. "You're impossible!"

"_I'm_ impossible? Really, Blake." It was his turn to sound annoyed. "You don't know how much trouble you seem to have landed yourself into. You'll be strung from the highest ceiling and go to – who knows where, Heaven, Hell, the Bermuda Triangle-"

"Blaise, I'm serious." I said, anxiety creeping into my voice. "Draco could come any moment now and… I don't know… Bring it up-"

"Stab you-"

"That would be so horrible. Shit, I'm so embarrassed," I groaned, ignoring his last comment. "I need to die."

"You do – here, let me help you," Picking up his butter knife, Blaise mimed a slicing motion in front of my neck. I slapped his hand away, incensed. "You bitch. Look, we can all just pretend you were drunk like an old geezer yesterday, but the problem is, Draco won't buy it."

"Yeah, I figured that out for myself, thanks for the information, though," I said dryly. "The point is, what am I supposed to do – aside from ending my life?"

"Just say you're sorry," He suggested. I glared at him with venomous eyes.

"Yeah, I'll go do that. I'll just march up to him and say, _'Hey, Draco, sorry for lip-raping you last night. It actually wasn't as much the alcohol as it was my unbridled passion for you, nurtured deep within the nights I lay alone in my bed, thinking of you. Anyway, if that freaked you out, sorry. Let's just pretend it never happened and move on with our lives.'_"

"That's actually pretty good. Except for the part you missed about how you decided you wanted to jump his pants, have his babies and own a three story house with him, along with a dog, two cats, and five parrots."

"I hate birds." I said flatly.

"Okay, sorry, five guinea pigs, then."

"You're not helping," I hissed.

"Like I said, Blake, just go and apologize. Draco's the forgiving type. Sort of," He shrugged, and he and I both knew that was probably the most bald-faced lie anyone could come up with.

"That's ridiculous."

"Just blurt it out and bolt," He instructed. "Do it now while it's still fresh."

"Now?" I frowned. "Why would I want to do it now?"

"Do what now, Asher?" A new voice interrupted, and I witnessed, eyes wide, Draco sitting across the table from Blaise, eyebrow raised.

"Do… Do…" I stuttered. Oh shit. Why couldn't I form a coherent sentence? "Do… um… The… uh."

"The cha-cha, of course, Draco," Blaise stepped in on cue, rolling his eyes as if it were a joke. Surreptitiously, he pinched my arm. "What else could it be?"

"The cha-cha is an awful Muggle dance," He sighed. "One of the worst, really. Those imbeciles don't know how ridiculous they look. Pathetic."

"I…" Both of them looked at me, Blaise expectant, Draco, aloof and questioning in one. My eyes darted around like a fish caught in the spotlight, and I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I need to go."

"What?" Blaise exclaimed, shooting me a meaningful glance. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious," I confirmed, standing up. "I'll see you later."

"Later," Draco said, turning away and biting into an apple with an ultimately satisfying crunch. Turning on my heel, I hurried away from the table, but not before I heard Blaise say, "Draco, can we discuss something?"

With no intention to hear what they were about to discuss, I skidded out of the Great Hall, my head bent down to the floor as if this would make me completely invisible. In the act of doing this, however, I wasn't looking properly at where I was going – the result of this being the unsurprising event in which I bumped into a certain Theodore Nott.

"Heeey, Blake," he said, dragging out all the vowels. "Missed you at the party after you left. You doing alright?"

"I'm doing fine," I answered shortly. "Thank you."

"Listen," He dropped his voice. "I know you had a rough time last night, and I'm sorry about that. I guess boys can't really expect girls to act the same way, or anything…"

"Well," I said dryly. "That's a great assessment, Nott. Maybe you should write it down or something, so it doesn't escape your mind, or whatever."

"So I was thinking," He continued, as if he hadn't heard my snippy comment. "Maybe we could hang out another time. Just you and me."

"Uh," I said dumbly. "Sure."

"Sure, like, you don't mind going out on a date with me?" He looked surprised. "You serious?"

"No, I'm Blake, but thank you for asking."

"You know, your sarcasm is really kind of attractive," He smiled. _My sarcasm is attractive?_ My imaginary naked mole rat is attractive. What a stupid thing to say.

"I – thanks," I frowned. "I think."

"How about Friday?"

"What about Friday?" I wondered, totally missing the point.

"Want to go on a date with me?"

"I'll… Have to check my schedule," I said lamely, inching slowly away from him. He looked bemused, but also rather appreciative.

"I should have known." He said sagely.

"Right. Remind me what you should have known?"

"I mean, a really beautiful girl like you," He raised an eyebrow. "Must have tons of guys running after her. And that really sexy American accent you have…"

_Ugh_. What? Is this guy serious? I'm going to punch his face one day. And Americans don't have _accents_. That's ridiculous. All the British people have accents. God, what is wrong with people today?

"I need to go," I said flatly, for the second time that day. "Later." 

"Let me go with you-"

"No," I replied a little too quickly, shaking my head. "I'm okay. I'm… I'll find my way to… wherever I'm going, I guess."

"Are you sure?" He asked, his brow crinkling up in what could be disguised concern. Honestly, though, he looked worried, like he was thinking about the possibility that I would fall into a hole or something to that general effect.

"Totally." Without even pausing to try to seem nonchalant, I spun on my heel and hurried away, ignoring his calling out to me: '_So I'll see you on Friday, then?_'

God, what is with these people? They're all a bunch of madly raving lunatics. I can't believe I got pulled out and distracted from trying to sneak out of here. Ugh, stupid Draco Malfoy and his stupid good looks and stupid allure and –

What? No, stop, Blake. Stop. You are a creature possessed. Stop if you know what's good for you.

I wonder what Blaise was trying to pry out of Draco this time? No doubt it had something to do with my ultimately embarrassing confession of (idiotically) kissing him. As much as I tried to defend my actions with the excuse that I was drunk, not thinking straight, running from adrenaline or making sure I wasn't gay, the fact remained, and I knew it. No matter how difficult it was for me to admit it, it was still more difficult to pull out of this painfully one-sided infatuation.

And I don't think it even qualified nearly as much as a kiss would. It ran something along the lines of lip-raping, which didn't make me feel any better. Basically, I did one thing I thought I'd never do to someone – violation. It's embarrassing, and also slightly strange to consider. Technically, I've never heard of a girl violating a boy, but things always change in the 21st Century.

Of course, it wouldn't be considered violation if Draco Malfoy had actually willingly accepted my outpour of emotion.

Yeah, that's totally the case.

Oh, God. When did my mind suddenly wander off into the topic of lip-raping?

Mentally berating myself, I stomped down the stairs and into the hallway leading to the common room. A heavy chill pressed down on the cold stonewalls, and I instinctively pulled my jacket around my body tighter. The stupidest thing about the Slytherin common room? Everyone's so cool in there that they can't afford to have a heater in the area.

I was just about to fumble around for the password to the portrait when it swung open on me, and I jumped back in surprise. In a moment, Professor Snape loomed into view, looking as deadpan and angsty-at-the-world as ever. He regarded me with a cold stare.

"Miss Asher," He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing down here?"

"I – um," I know Professor Snape wasn't nearly as bitchy to the Slytherins (including me, which is a relief) as he was to, say, the Gryffindors (Harry). Still, as pleasant as he was, the ever-present aura of death and doom did sort of come off as a minor set-back. "I just… I was just going to get another sweater, sir."

"Shouldn't you be upstairs, taking your breakfast with, say, Mister Zabini?"

"Well, I – I," Wait. How does Snape even know I hang out with Blaise? I thought he was too school for cool to even notice the minor details like that. "I just finished, sir."

"I see," He loosened his grip from the edge of the portrait, shaking out his sleeves. "You might want to be more careful, Miss Asher. I assume you've noticed that it isn't quite safe to be wandering around alone."

What is this supposed to mean? I don't wander around alone. I couldn't even do that if I wanted to, with Blaise shadowing my every move (even more at this point, in which he now knows my shining moment of humiliation).

Also, I told him I was going to get another damn jacket. Like I'm going to kill someone with a scrap of wool?

"I… understand, sir," I nodded.

"Good. There's a package for you, I believe, in the dormitories. Send the owl out once you're done – it's disturbing the portraits."

"Right. Sorry, Professor," I backed into the portrait hole, careful not to stumble in as I did so. He watched as I settled into the entrance of the common room with an unreadable expression.

"You wouldn't happen to be aware of the whereabouts of Mister Malfoy, would you?" He asked in a silky, albeit slightly threatening manner.

"He's, uh, in the Great Hall, I think."

Without another word, he turned his back to me and swept down the hall, no doubt to hunt down the arrogant blonde. Shrugging it off, I shut the portrait hole and hurried up into the girls' dormitory. It was empty, as expected, and exactly as I'd left it this morning – slightly messy and smelling of designer perfume.

The only difference was that there was a massive bulk lying on my bed, and an impatient owl hopping atop it. Sinking down onto my bed, I undid the string on the owl's leg (with much difficulty, as owls are not my animal of choice), and tore open the letter. It was addressed to me, of course, from my elusive parents.

_Dearest Blake,_

_How's your year so far in Hogwarts? We haven't heard from you, and perhaps the letter we last sent you had gotten lost somewhere over London _(nah, I just skipped off the replying part of the procedure)_. We've missed you, darling. How is school? Are you making any new friends? We've sent a message to Professor Dumbledore, and he says you're doing well. We hoped to see you this holiday break, but daddy got an urgent call and we had to go to Ireland for a week. Since we won't be able to see each other, we hope that you'll get this letter well, along with our Christmas present to you. We know you've missed home so much, and so we decided to send a bit of what you love to you. We hope you like it – it might take a bit of time to pass through the security (Professor Dumbledore assures us it will be no problem, but they have state-of-the-art dark detectors, you know!) but we hope you get it alright. _

_Happy Christmas, Blake, and we hope to hear from you soon. We love you as much as always, if not more._

_Love, _

_Mum and Dad._

"Hey!" I exclaimed, looking up as the owl that had delivered my parents' message began hooting loudly, pecking at my fingers the moment it noticed I had finished reading my parents' letter.

How can birds even – never mind. Like this place isn't crazy enough.

"Fine, I'm getting to it," I rummaged around for a working ballpoint and turned the paper over, not bothering to use a new sheet to formulate a quick and hopefully satisfying response.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Thanks so much for the amazing gift! _(whatever it is, I have to say it) _I love it. Sorry I haven't had the time to reply to your letters, school's been pretty demanding. I'm doing fine, and I've made a few friends. _(Do my parents really think I'm a sociopath? That's slightly disconcerting.) _Hope you're all doing okay, and I miss you too._

_Merry Christmas. Love you._

_Blake_

Sealing it back into the envelope, I beckoned the owl back from its ADHD activities of zooming around the ceiling and annoying most of the portraits. After a few attempts and many scratches on my part, I had wound the string around its leg and let the letter dangle awkwardly. No sooner had I finished this task, the owl hopped up to my headboard, threw me one last irritable look, and zoomed out the window.

Fucking neurotic feather-brains.

Curious, I raked my fingernails through the wrapping of the bulk, messily ripping it open. I wasn't expecting much, maybe a huge vase or a massive pillow (my parents are the type, seriously), but when my eyes fell on it, my jaw dropped all the way down to the… I'm in the lowest level of the place. Never mind.

But, honestly, it was beautiful. My trembling hands ran across the sleek fretboard, then the shiny wood. Underneath my skin was a very perfect, very beautiful, and very expensive guitar. Checking the knobs, I read the brand over and over in my head, each time making it sound more and more unreal. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. I now own a sleek, sexy Taylor guitar.

Oh, Draco Malfoy. You have nothing on this baby (not really).

Man, I should have written a bit more to my parents. Okay, whatever. The best thing to do now is make good use of this beautiful, slightly sacred present. Carefully picking up my new instrument, I held it close to my chest as I descended the stairs to the common room, ready to waste a perfectly pleasant afternoon with my six-string.

* * *

The thing with music – it shortens time a lot. True fact, talking from total experience – the car ride home from a two-hour distance is cut into half when you've plugged in your iPod. You leave for a concert at six and the next thing you know, it's one and you're back in bed. You pick up a brand new guitar at ten in the morning and you've skipped lunch and the sun has set well before you even notice you stomach growling.

Oh, but this thing with me – I'm kind of shy when it comes to singing. Yeah, I know, right? Blake Asher, bitch extraordinaire (resenting this self-presented realization) and master of sarcasm (resenting this too, though not as much), shy in singing? Yeah. I'm screwing insecure. I've never made anyone procure ear cancer, or whatever, but I'd much rather people not criticize my voice. Hence, we have Kyle Jameson, the voice of our life-long dream. Well, it was a shared life-long dream, until I somehow landed here. But, okay, whatever.

Anyway, I only sing when I'm absolutely sure I'm all alone, so that it doesn't feel too awkward when people are watching and they tell you that you suck - or, worse, smile and say you're amazing even though it's so deadly obvious they think you need to be shot. I sang quietly in the common room, because even though I knew I was alone, it didn't really qualify – there were still portraits of snoozing ladies and old geezers playing a brutal game of chess. I was careful not to disturb any of them.

I'd gone though a small portion of my collection of learned songs, ranging from Train to 30 Seconds to Mars, all on acoustic, of course. At the present moment, I was strumming the verse chords of Lady Antebellum's hit, _Need You Now_. I love that song. Not to mention it was particularly lovesick, which was perfect for the occasion.

_"And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?_

_For me it happens all the time._

_It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk_

_And I need you now._

_Said I wouldn't call, but I lost control,_

_And I need you now. _

_And I don't know how I can do witho-"_

My tune was broken immediately as I heard soft clapping from near the portrait hole. Looking up with my face a nice shade of red, I found Blaise and Draco standing on the sidelines, Blaise dropping his hands from the act of applause.

"Seems like you _can_ do something right, then, Asher?" Blaise teased. Putting down my guitar carefully on the couch, I stood, feeling awkward.

"How long have you been there?"

"Probably a few minutes," Draco said boredly. "You're surprisingly ignorant. Minus the surprisingly."

"Funny," I bit back, but with less venom than I intended. Blaise crossed the room, and reached out to touch my instrument – instinctively, I slapped his pale hand away before he could damage it. Surprise crossed his face, but he smiled.

"So this is what you've been doing the whole day?" He mused. "We've been looking all over for you."

"No, we haven't," Draco interjected, frowning.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," I shrugged. "I got kind of carried away."

"Way away," Blaise agreed. "Come on, rockstar, let's go get dinner."

"Cool," I picked up my guitar and hurried up into the dormitory. Setting it down on the bed, I threw my blanket over it, to make sure the nosy fifth-year didn't poke (literally) into business that wasn't really hers. Running down, I caught Draco already exiting the portrait hole, and Blaise waved me to hurry up.

"This is nice, isn't it?" He said to no one in particular as we walked to the Great Hall, throwing his arms around mine and Draco's shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fleeting expression of irritation pass Draco's defined features. Blaise didn't seem to notice, and steered us to our dinner. Just like that morning, the Hall was particularly bare, with a few stragglers flitting about from table to table. I spotted Harry Potter, talking to a pretty redhead who just gave him a small, simple smile. Ha. I'd bet my new Taylor that was Ron Weasley's sister, and the love of young Harry's life. You go, Harry Potter (too many Mean Girls references in my life. Sorry).

Sitting down, Blaise immediately began to shovel food from the serving platters to his empty plate. Draco watched him with an air of amusement, and I secretly observed him with an air of curiosity. What exactly _did_ he and Blaise discuss as I left? But I didn't have a chance to consider this thoroughly – our eyes locked for a brief moment, and I tore my gaze away, pretending to watch the latecomers walk through the great archway.

"Hey, guys," The familiar voice of Theodore Nott, followed by his concrete presence, graced our area of the table. Sitting beside me, he didn't even hesitate to turn to my general direction. "Hey, Blake."

"Hello, Theodore," I sighed. The only thing that keeps me talking to this weirdo is the fact that his name is the name of the cutest chipmunk in Alvin and the Chipmunks. So adorable. Plus the fact that Theodore the Chipmunk is voiced by the mega-hot Jesse McCartney. Whereas this guy, Theodore was just… not. Definitely not Jesse McCartney. Definitely not a chipmunk. Minus two points for Nott.

"So, have you decided on Friday?" He smiled. Blaise paused in the act of piling his plate, raising his head to look questioning at me.

"What's happening on Friday?" He asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly.

"There's an exclusive party, Zabini, didn't you know?" Theodore Nott said coolly. Blaise feigned hurt.

"Is there, really? I'm sure I'm on this guest list."

"Unfortunately, it's open to only a few people," He smirked. "Namely Blake Asher and I."

"I'm offended, Nott. I really am. One drinking party, and you ditch me for the girl," But a slow grin spread on Blaise's lips.

"Sorry, but I can't seem to pick you over this lady," He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I made a face no one caught. "How about it, Blake? Friday okay?"

I felt something hard press down on my foot – Blaise's.

"I'm still not sure," I mumbled under my breath. "Sorry."

"Not a problem," He smiled. "Definitely. I'll wait for your answer."

"Thanks," I avoided pushing the conversation into another awkward ball-roll, and did so by scooping some mashed potatoes onto my plate. An awkward mini-conversation followed, where Blaise forcefully injected the topic of goings-on at the Ministry of Magic. Theodore Nott seemed less than concerned, and Draco Malfoy had not spoken up once. Well, that is, until he looked up from his half-finished plate and, with a stony expression, addressed Nott.

"Nott, could I have a word with you?" Draco said, making to stand.

"Anything you want to discuss, we can discuss here," Nott replied, still in the act of chewing his food. Draco shook his head and began to walk away from the table and out of the Great Hall. Rolling his eyes, Theodore scoffed and said, "Bloody diva."

But he followed anyway.

I fidgeted in my seat, antsy. Blaise made no more attempts to start a conversation about raids, so it was quiet for the most part. I noticed the fifth-year girl sitting a few places away, eyeing me carefully. Maybe she was checking to see if I was going to jump Blaise's bones right now. Slightly incensed, I stood up and placed my fork down on my plate resolutely.

"Be right back," I announced to Blaise, who looked up at me dazedly.

"What? You're leaving me alone?" He frowned. "You bitch."

"I just forgot something. I'll be quick, I promise." Without even waiting for a reply, I dashed out of the Great Hall, ready to scour the entire castle for the recently escaped Nott and Malfoy. But I didn't have to – I skidded to a stop as I saw two figures standing tensely in the middle of the entrance hall, one speaking feverishly. Tiptoeing behind a bronze statue of an oddly winged animal, I strained my ears to hear the low, intense conversation.

"… To what I told you, Nott." Draco's seemingly long speech had evidently just ended, and it was Theodore's moment to reply.

"I don't see why I have to answer to you, Malfoy," Theodore replied coolly. "You think just because you've been given some shitty job to do, you're the king of the world now? Do I have to remind you whose father is in Azkaban?"

A furious moment passed where Draco grabbed the front of Nott's shirt and balled it into his fists. "I'm warning you, Nott. Stay away from Blake Asher."

"You can't tell me what to do anymore, Draco. You're not high and mighty anymore," Theodore shoved Draco's hold off him with some effort. "I don't have to take orders from you. If I want to date Blake Asher, I will."

"No, you won't," Draco snapped.

"Face it, Draco. You and your bad-boy, I-don't-care image may have worked the first few weeks, but you're wearing it out," Nott retorted. "She's getting sick of you, and you can see it. But then again, you don't care, do you?"

"Fucking shut up."

"You can't have everything, Malfoy. You want to get the job done? Then forget Asher. You have nothing on her. And she won't say yes to you after she finds out what you're up to."

Nott took a step closer to Draco, challenging him. When Draco said nothing, a slow smirk crept on his face.

"I'm right, aren't I? You know that she'll freak out when she finds out what you're trying to do. Me? The most I can do is date a pretty girl. But you? Who knows what kind of shit you'll drag her into?" A cross between a scoff and a cruel chuckle escaped Theodore Nott's lips. "I'm just waiting for the day when she realizes you're full of shit. And then she'll come to me for sure."

"You hardly even know what she's like," Draco bit back angrily.

"And you do?" Nott challenged.

"I know a damn sight better than you."

"But she knows nothing about you, Malfoy. And you can't let her know, otherwise you're screwed. So," He shrugged. "Why not just save yourself the trouble, and let me have her?"

"Honestly?" Draco snorted. "I'd rather gut a pig."

"You tell me what you have that I don't, and then let's weigh it out." Theodore Nott raised an eyebrow. "Go on, then."

"Simple. I have her affections."

"Yes, and quite like the taste of bubblegum, it never lasts until you pop another one," Nott rolled his eyes. "Your pretending not to care about her was the stupidest plan I could ever imagine. But I have to thank you, though. This gives a little more opening for me."

"Meaning?" Draco demanded.

"Meaning it's easier for a girl to fall for someone who tells her he likes her. It flatters her. Makes her easy. Sooner or later, she'll be by my side every hour of the day, I guarantee it."

"You need to fuck off, Nott. I swear," Draco said in a warning tone. "If I find you near Blake Asher again-"

"You'll what? Press on your tattooed forearm? I'm so scared, Malfoy." Nott snorted. "I'm getting Blake Asher, Draco. You can bet on it."

"I'd rather not lose my money on something so absurd," Draco spat.

"If you wanted her, you should have said so," Nott spun on the spot and began to walk away. "But since she knows you hate her guts, I guess she's mine now."

Both Draco and I watched as Theodore Nott stalked out of the entrance hall and back into the Great Hall – at least Blaise would have some sort of company, no matter how politically unconcerned he was. I unglued my eyes from the back of Theodore Nott's clothes to observe Draco's face. It was morphing between anger, frustration, and perhaps a twinge of regret. He raised his hand to his face and rubbed it in a gesture of agitation.

Personally, I didn't decide what I was going to do next. It just sort of felt like the smart and logical thing to do. I stepped out from my hiding place and walked quietly over to him. Hesitantly, I placed my quivering hand on his shoulder. He jerked away and stared at me for the longest time, as though he couldn't decide whether to slap me or bolt off. Instead, he decided to go with the more simple option. "Asher."

"He's a jerk," I said quietly, not meeting his eye.

"What did you hear?" He demanded.

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah," I dropped my arm to my side, where it hung uselessly. "Sorry for eavesdropping."

"No you're not."

"Yeah, you're right, I'm not," I admitted. "I did come here and spy on you."

"Why?" He asked, sounding more curious than pissed.

"Because I felt like it would be a good idea. Besides," I dared to crack a small smile. "Blaise makes a really bad conversationalist when it's awkward."

Something like a laugh escaped his lips, but then he sobered down instantly. "What you heard-"

"Was totally not for real, and you were just messing with Theodore Nott. You didn't mean anything you said, and I'm going to let go of it and pretend I never even left the Great Hall. Got it," I shrugged. He stared at me, grey eyes piercing, until he nodded slowly.

"Exactly."

"Right." I gave him a really corny thumbs up, despite the fact that my heart was sinking way, way down. "I'm going back inside."

"That would be an excellent gesture."

"Cool," Slowly, I rotated and took heavy steps closer to the Great Hall. That was really awkward and pointless.

"Wait, Blake."

I didn't even bother hiding my shock as I turned back around. "Did you just call me Blake?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but I always though we'd be on the whole surname terms," I made useless hand gestures to make me feel less stupid and inarticulate.

"Everything you heard is true. I told Theodore Nott to stay away from you, because I knew he fancied you. And because…" He trailed off.

"Then why are you always so mean to me?"

"It seemed like the most appropriate way to make sure I didn't feel anything. Not that it worked. Plus," He added, smirking a little. "You seem like the kind of girl who wants what she can't have."

"Um," I said, not sure if this was meant to be comforting.

"To be honest, I'm never the first one to fall," He raised an eyebrow. "Initially, you seemed to be what I assumed you were – a loud-mouthed, nosy American girl without much brains."

"Thank you," I spat, slightly hurt at this comment. If he noticed, he didn't give it much attention.

"Blaise joked about you fancying me – and then I found out it was true," He snorted. "At first, I decided I'd play you. That seemed to be an excellent plan – I always enjoy seeing stupid girls heartbroken."

"Of course, you can afford it." I rolled my eyes.

"I could have, if I didn't reciprocate anything," At this, he looked slightly amused. "But I was definitely wrong about you. You're a lot smarter than you're putting out, and I'm not sure you even know it."

"I can't believe it."

"What?"

"It sounded like you just complimented me," I stuck my pinky in my ear and pulled it out, hearing the satisfying _pop_. "But I know that can't be for real. You hate me."

"If you hadn't been a nosy eavesdropper, I might have agreed with you," He said dryly. "But the case being the opposite, I suppose there's no getting around it."

"You told Theodore Nott to stay away from me because-"

"Because, unfortunately, I seem to have realized that _I_ want you," He said this as though it scared him a little. "And having Theodore Nott in the way seems to muck up my plans quite a bit."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Can you imagine me telling you?" he snapped. "Yes, I thought so."

"But when I kissed you-"

"That was a first-class stunt, I have to commend you," He smirked. "I must admit, even I was pleasantly surprised."

"You didn't even say anything to me after it happened," I said accusingly. "I freaked out the entire night. And the entire day today. And then I was thinking about saying sorry and then – you're driving me crazy."

"Does it comfort you to know, then," He raised a skeptic eyebrow. "That you have the same effect on me?"

"I-" I dropped my sentence, slightly confused. What?

After a moment's silence, he announced, "I think I'll be heading to the common room now. I won't be finishing dinner with you."

I gaped like a frightened fish as he began to walk away, fixing the collar of his shirt. It was only before he disappeared into the darkness did I call out.

"Wait, what does this mean?"

He didn't even turn around to reply, merely continued to walk on.

"Whatever you think it means, Asher."


	14. Lesson

Something about my mattress was not quite as comfortable tonight. It was either lumpy, or too hot, or the sheets were too wrinkled, or there was one part that sank down deeper than all the others. Or, maybe, it was just the fact that I kept tossing and turning on it to the point that it was about to explode.

Okay, Draco Malfoy. Whatever I think it is. Well, what _do_ I think it is? It's messed up, it's… slightly retarded would be the correct term. I like a guy who's too busy cavorting around campus to give two shits about me. I've done the most humiliating things in front of him, and now I've just learned that he may or may not like me too – he was too busy being a vague idiot to actually answer the question directly. By the way: that guy is _you_.

This is so messed up. I can't even lie still enough to assess the situation. When I'd returned to the common room that evening, I was expecting to find Draco sitting there, musing over something while staring handsomely into the mid-distance out the window. Instead, I found the fifth-year girl who nearly literally jumped on me, asking if I'd moved on from Blaise Zabini to Theodore Nott. It took all my self restraint to point out that, however alluring the idea of a rebound-jumper was, I was interested in the one guy who she seemed to miss out on the count. Not that I blame her, or anything – the fact that Draco Malfoy is exactly who he is just makes it more plausible that he'll stay a brooding bachelor for the rest of his life, simply because no girl seems to be good enough to measure up to his self-proclaimed perfection.

But I'd really, _really_ like to be the girl that comes pretty close.

Oh, no. This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.

The point was that I still couldn't define whatever relationship, existent or otherwise, there was between us. Friendship? Yeah, could be, especially since we achieved a conversation that didn't revolve around a hit on my intelligence. Romance? Yuck. It sounded so weird. Like, kind of uncomfortable to consider.

Not that it changed the fact that I wanted it.

_What_? Blake, seriously! Get a grip. You're going to get your period. Yeah. That's it.

I slid out of bed and put on my slippers, aware that the moment my bare shins escaped the quilt, goosebumps appeared on my skin. It wasn't a choice. I didn't have proper pajamas left, so I had to use leggings. Sue me.

I decided I would take a walk, or perhaps play some music in some far area where no one would hear me, just to clear my mind.

From inside my trunk, I carefully extracted my new guitar, watching the moonlight hit the surface. I was cautious not to have it slam into anything that would cause a ruckus, having the snoozing fifth-year girl bolt up and ask me more about my imaginary whorish escapades. Whatever. Tiptoeing out of the dormitory, I sped through the common room and out the portrait hole. Everything was asleep, even the perpetually dozing dragon, so I slipped past the corridors and peered into the darkness to see if there were any tall figures lurking around in the shadows.

Okay, _fine_. Yes, I did go out partly because I wanted to see if I could catch Draco slinking around the castle. I mean, it's happened so many times before on sheer chance, so, why not? Besides, I had some issues to settle with the boy.

Guitar in one hand and lit wand in the other, I treaded carefully through the passages, taking extra care not to shine light directly on portraits, and not to make loud noises. It worked this time around, maybe because I wasn't aimlessly wandering about like a maniac. I was actually out here for some purpose, as creepy as that might be.

But about fifteen minutes of traipsing around like a lost female Jonas Brother had me wary. Maybe Draco hadn't snuck out tonight? Like he'd really want to talk to me anyway, even if I'd bumped into him. This is stupid. Why am I looking to talk to someone in the dead of night if I can just talk to them the next morning?

I was just about to storm back through the way I came when I heard a soft rustling of movement. Suddenly gripped with fear, I held my wand up higher and spun around looking frantic. What if it was a teacher? Filch or his cat? A tattletale ghost? A killer elf? Oh, no. I'm going to die. I'm really, _really _going to d-

"Blake?"

I shone the light on a long, pale face standing mere centimeters away from me. Green pupils adjusted blearily to my wand.

"Jesus," I breathed. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Harry Potter?"

"Might ask _you_ the same question. D'you mind?" He held my wrist and lowered my wand, rubbing his eyes from underneath his circular spectacles.

"Sorry," I apologized, relaxing my tensed guard. "You scared me. You're out so late."

"As are you," He eyed me suspiciously. "Care to share why?"

"I couldn't sleep." I admitted.

"I see," He nodded, like he understood this perfectly. "Anything on your mind?"

"Nothing, just everything," I let out a small laugh. He smiled weakly. "So what are you doing out here?"

"Just out for a midnight stroll as well," He replied, though there was a twinge of curiosity in his voice. "Blake – I mean, I know this is kind of weird…"

"So was everything else that's happened to me in the past how many weeks," I snorted. "This probably couldn't get any weirder."

"You're right," He chuckled. "But I was wondering – you haven't seen anyone, have you? Walking around here? Besides me, of course."

"No, sorry," I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Any name in particular?"

"Just a certain Draco Malfoy," He admitted. I nearly choked on my own saliva, but saved myself in the last second.

"Draco Malfoy? Are you for real?" I nearly added, _Come on; let's go hunt him down together!_ But then I realized that the purposes might be a little more than slightly diverted.

"Yeah, well," He looked kind of sheepish. "He's been sort of sneaking out a lot-"

"Yeah, I know." Oops. Oh, shit. Ah, I shouldn't have said that.

"What? You _know_?" Harry Potter looked shocked, at the very least. "How? Do you know where he goes?"

"What? No – I meant – He's a prefect, he always goes out on prefect patrol." Too late. The damage was done. I run my mouth way too much.

"Look, Blake, whatever you know, you have to tell me now." Harry said, his voice dropping into an undertone.

"What? I don't know anything – honest to God, Harry. What happened to having a nice conversation and all that?" I clutched the fretboard of my guitar tightly.

"Blake-"

"Look, all I know is that he goes out and disappears into the shadows and all that emo angst stuff," I said quickly. "I don't know where he goes, or what he does."

"How do you know?"

"I've run into him a couple of times," I shrugged. "More literally than imaginable."

"Blake, whatever you know, you have to tell me. This is important." He pressed, looking like he was about three paces away from blowing himself up.

"Look, Harry Potter, I don't know anything. I told you once before, and I'll tell you again – I know nothing about Draco Malfoy. All my stored information to him is free access to you, and you know double," I said, miffed. But this didn't seem to slow down his momentum at all. Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and stared desperately into my face. Needless to say, I was freaked out.

"At least tell me where you've bumped into him."

"Yeah, really," I shrugged his hold off. "Because your faith in my sense of direction in this goddamn labyrinth is truly astounding."

"Just give it a go, Blake."

"Sixth – no, sorry. Seventh Floor, I think. The place where there are numerous passageways that lead to _everywhere_," I added unhelpfully. But, really, this was such a waste of time. If Harry Potter wanted to find Draco Malfoy, he should have bolted off without even stopping to have a chat with me. Draco could very well have slipped back into the common room and back to bed while Harry tried to lure the truth out of me. Truth that, well, escaped my knowledge as well.

"Seventh Floor," He grumbled. "What's on the Seventh Floor?"

"Like I said, a lot of passageways that le-"

"This isn't a joke, Blake, seriously," He snapped, then caught himself. "Sorry. I'm sorry, but you have to understand this is a whole lot bigger than me trying to catch him for sneaking out."

"_I'm_ sorry, Harry Potter, but the thing is, I _don't_ understand. I don't know what your problem is, and I don't know what his problem is either. If you'd just kindly explain to me what I'm lacking – which, mind you, is everything – I'd probably be a lot more use to you than just someone who keeps saying 'I don't know'."

Harry Potter snapped his head around, eyes darting back and forth for a moment. Finally, he grabbed my forearm and walked resolutely into an empty classroom – the Charms one, I believe. He allowed me to sit down and balance my guitar on the desk, then leaned back on the wall, sighing.

"Okay, Blake, I'd just really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about what I'm going to say right now."

"Why? Because it's secret or because it's crazy?" I saw the exasperated look on his face, then quickly added, "Sorry."

"You know how you told me you saw something odd about the tattoo on his arm? Can you remind me what it looked like?"

"It looked like," I chewed on the bottom of my lip. I hadn't seen the stupid thing since the first time, and I probably wouldn't see it again. My head was trying to rewire, wondering if it was an anaconda or a shark. "It looked like – there was a face on it."

"Uh huh."

"And there was a snake. It was coming out of the mouth of the face, and it… twined around something. I don't know. Or maybe that was just some horrible nightmare I had after watching Animal Planet's Reptile Special." I admitted.

"As much as it would be nice to say you dreamt that, you didn't. What you saw was the mark of a Death Eater. And Draco Malfoy is one of them."

His ominous expression probably was my cue to go, _"Oh my God, no. Draco Malfoy? A Death Eater?_" or maybe even say, _"Le GASP. Shall we go and slay the demon inside Draco Malfoy?"_ But since this isn't really much of a medieval movie, I decided to go with something a little more modern-age feel.

"Well, what the fuck is that?"

"Are you mad?" He looked at me as though he couldn't quite believe I'd just said something evidently that drastic. Actually, his expression was reminiscent of how someone would react if I'd just announced I was, in fact, a man. "Death Eaters are the main supporters of Voldemort. They're the ones causing all this chaos in the world. Honestly, Blake."

"Who in their right minds would name their kid something as ridiculous as Voldemort?" I challenged.

"_What_?" At this point in time, he seemed ready to have a heart attack. "Blake – where do you even come from?"

"Uranus," I said flatly. He fell quiet and stared at me with an expression that began to make me feel as though this were a topic I couldn't be inadequate about when it came to information. "Why don't you just pretend like I'm a first timer on the subject and fill me in on the whole shebang, huh?"

"Except," He said skeptically. "I get the odd feeling we're not pretending."

"Yeah, well, you can skip out on the minor details."

* * *

I had listened patiently to Harry Potter's slightly deranged tale without much comment (yeah, believe it. Okay fine, I did put in a few unnecessary quips here and there, but the nature of a person is what it is). In around fifteen minutes (inclusive of the topic straying out of the circle due to my input), I had received a framework of his epic past, the antagonist of the year called Voldemort, who had killed his parents and was now devoting the rest of his pretty long life to blowing my good, bespectacled friend into smithereens.

Yeah, I know you don't get it. But it's the best I can come up with. Especially because this story is the most ludicrous thing I've ever encountered.

Anyway, this dude Voldemort (seriously. Not over the name) has a huge-ass posse, called the death eaters. They don't rap or push people into garbage cans, but it's like this lame cult where their mission is to kill people. Except they don't really sacrifice them on pearl altars, or whatever. I guess everyone's outgrown that stage, so they just shoot bits of light out of a stick of wood and call it a day. You know, and they don't even get paid for it, which is awkward.

Talk about devotion, or whatever.

And so Harry just finished telling me that the Malfoys (guess whose family that is) are a really long line of bad-man supporters, or something to that effect. Draco's dad, Lucius (LOL. What is with these people and their epically awkward names?) was a huge, top of the pack, alpha-dog Death Eater. Well, that was until he was sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison.

_Yes, I finally know what the fuck Azkaban is. Finally. Answers._

Harry has this odd theory about how, now, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater in his father's place, and has been sent by You-Know-Who (Harry warned me that saying Voldemort is sort of forbidden, or whatever. Like Chuck Norris or Charlie Sheen. Even though he doesn't know who either of them are, but I'm getting the concept). Apparently he's on some top secret not-so-spy mission with objective God-knows-what, which is why he's been sneaking out on a midnightly basis.

And I'm like, well, that's all he's doing out here? Thank God he doesn't have a girl on the side. That would have been legitimately disappointing.

I sort of voiced this out to Harry, but he got kind of pissed about how I was totally missing the point. So I let the matter drop.

I did, however, try to defend Draco from Harry's pretty thought-out theory.

"I mean, it could have easily been a henna," I had said.

"What's a henna?" He had wondered blankly.

"Like, a fake tattoo that comes off after like, a week," I had explained. "You know. Like when people go to the beach and stuff and get hennas because they can show skin without being sent to a strip club, or whatever."

"I'm pretty sure Draco Malfoy has never been to the beach," Harry had replied flatly.

"Yeah, but like, maybe it was just some super rad fad at the time," I'd reasoned out. "Or maybe like, a mourning period for his dad. So it was like some fanatic decision, or something."

"Blake," Harry had exhaled tired. So I let that drop too.

Harry had given me time to think it through, though there wasn't much to consider. People are going to get killed. My crush is apparently evil. I still haven't been to a Justin Bieber concert.

Life's like that, you know? Fucked up.

"So with everything that you've told me," I said slowly. "And I totally understand it, no problem – but, um… why?"

"Why what?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Like, why did I have to sit here and listen to that story?" I wondered. "I'm not getting the moral."

"There is no moral, Blake, focus," He rolled his eyes. "There's only a point."

"Uh huh. That being… what you're going to explain to me now," I urged him on.

"The point is that Draco Malfoy is up to no good. I'm trying to figure out what it is he's up to. And I'm hoping you'll help me."

"Help you stalk him?"

"Just help me find out."

"And then what?" I asked. "Will we turn him over to the FBI, or will we get a priest to exorcize him?"

"You're not taking me seriously," He sighed after a moment's pause as to give time to consider whether or not I was actually kidding. Of course I'm kidding. Theoretically, I'm not even completely sure London has an FBI. Or if it's even been invented at this point in time.

"I can't, like, this is so weird. I'm not sure if I should believe you or help you to a mental hospital. I'm sorry, Harry. All we're talking about is one stupid tattoo – which, by the way, could very well be a henna – to base your entire accusation on."

"I'm pretty sure it's not a henna, Blake," He spat. Well, at least he learned something useful today.

"Whatever," I said exasperatedly.

"I'm not asking you to believe me or anything," He replied. "But at least help me find out the truth."

"The truth? The truth is that I don't want to find out the truth," I answered. "Maybe I'm happy knowing nothing. Ignorance is bliss. I don't want to find out what Draco Malfoy's up to."

"Yeah? And what if I find out he _is_ sneaking out with a random girl?"

Damn it. No, no, don't give in to the mean kid with the lightning scar. "Then good for you. I hope he lets you in on a threesome."

"You're in denial," He accused.

"Yeah, well, you're up in my face, so get out of it," I snapped.

"This is unrealistic, Blake. You know he's up to something, and you aren't the least bit curious as to what that is?"

"I was curious, Harry, but that didn't turn out too well, okay? I just want to live what's left of my deprived life in normalcy. No bumps on the road. Skive through it, and die. Know what I'm trying to say?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure you gave that up when you fell through the sky. Or whatever that stunt was supposed to be."

"Thanks for the heads up, Charles Darwin. Maybe if I could pool all my tears of misery for being in this shithole, I could make your stupid lake an eighth sea. Are you happy? Yes, I am _fully _aware that my life is on the edge of a knife, about to plummet into insanity. But if you're going to make a powerpoint presentation about it, go right ahead. I'm listening."

A moment of silence swept about the empty classroom, later punctuated by a heavy sigh falling from Harry Potter's lips.

"I'm going to bed. You should too, Blake."

"Thanks," I replied, my voice tight from uncomfortability.

"Goodnight," With that, he walked out of the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. I heard his soles click away, until even the echoes of the sound were silent. Shaking my head, I lifted my guitar from where I had propped it up against an adjacent desk. I slid the pick wedged in between the strings and strummed once, to check if it was still in tune. The notes echoed off the walls of the room, making it sounds as though I were in an empty amphitheater prepping in soundcheck.

Which, I might remind everyone, is actually what I _should_ be doing with my life now. Unfortunately, my dreams of becoming the next big thing from Florida since Hey Monday caught on the mainstream scene (having been featured in Glee episodes has, actually, done them favors, no matter if it is slightly off-setting that two boys achieved the upper register of Cassadee Pope's unbelievably soprano range) had been dashed since I, I don't know, died, probably.

Whatever. The point was, at this rate, I would never become the rockstar I had so aspired to be.

I would, however, probably achieve in stick-waving and hex-casting if I tried hard enough. Either that, or I'd get caught in a sticky situation which would possibly result in the second ending of my life by means of absurd Latin words and empowered miniature tree branches.

"Oh, God," I groaned, shaking my head.

At this particular moment, a swift rapping came upon the door, and I perked up to the point of a near-heart attack. I closed off all respiratory action, because I felt that in the silence of the room my breathing would probably be equivalent to the sound of a speeding train.

"Holding your breath isn't going to help, Asher, I already know you're in there."

I released all the air I'd managed to accumulate in my lungs in one big exhale as Draco Malfoy opened the classroom door and stepped in, shutting it with a nudge of his foot. Facing me with a cool expression on his face, he raised a delicate eyebrow as a form of inquiry.

"What?" I initiated the conversation with a definite tone of defense.

"Well, I should be chastising you about your adamant irresponsibility at this point, but to spice it up a little, I'm giving you a bit of a chance." Pulling up a chair, he sat down and casually crossed his long legs. "Amuse me."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Wrong answer," He shook his head. "Are you planning to come quietly, or shall I drag you out by the ear? Or is there a similar, more American protocol for things like these?"

"Yeah, you go out and get drunk partying at an unknown bar," I let my eyes dart around. "But I'm guessing you don't have any of those around here, so."

"Then we agree we'll stick to the British procedure."

"Out of curiosity before you haul my ass back to the Common Room," I pointed a lamely accusing finger at him. "What were _you _doing out of bed?"

"Apprehending wanderers like you," leaning forward, he cast me a mysterious look. "Funnily enough, I was under the impression that Potter came out of this very room as well."

"So you decided to have a look-see if this was his midnight harem? Professional, real professional." I sighed. "Is it a job or a total hobby that you're such a narc?"

"A narc?" He scoffed. "Hardly."

"You can't just be out every night for the mere pleasure of catching people strolling around in the nighttime."

"_Au contraire_, Blake Asher."

"Anyway, you never _actually_ apprehend people," I continued.

"Why?" He threw me a challenging look. "Have you been _spying _on me again?"

"Do you really always just have to – oh, never mind," I picked up my guitar and stood up. His eyes followed me as I stared down at him. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."

"Where are we going?" He replied coolly.

"Back to the common room so that you can continue – oh what was it – chastising me about my _irresponsibility_," I said dryly. "Come on."

"What if I decided I was in a generous mood today?"

"Well, in that case," I plopped back down on my seat. "Let's talk."

"Now, why on earth would I choose to do that?" He asked, as though for all the world I'd asked him to skip across the seven seas in a tank top.

"Well, generosity involves sharing," I said slowly.

"I'm aware of the implications of the term, no need to be a lecturer."

"Share something in terms of verbal communication then." I challenged.

"I have no desire to communicate with you." He responded flatly. At this, I cast him an affronted expression. "Oh, sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?"

"Not quite as much as I wish I'd hurt yours," I snapped. "But seeing as you have none…"

"I suspect you've leeched them all out of me since the day you decided to make drunk direct contact."

"Hey, tread carefully," I reddened, embarrassed by the resurfacing of the topic of the kiss.

"I see I've hit a little nerve," He observed. "Sensitively?"

"Have not," I declined.

Unexpectedly, his hand shot out from his side and, more surprisingly, took to holding his palm pressed against my cheek. It was heart-stoppingly shocking that all I could do was blink, wide-eyed, my voice faltering and dying a painful death halfway between my voice box and my esophagus.

He didn't let go only said, "But your face is all warm."

I meant to say something – it was already perfectly formed in my mind, a great response along the lines of, '_yeah, well not everyone can be as cold-blooded as you_', but my nerves were probably iced down by his touch, and refused to cooperate. Either way, the response went to waste.

Instead, I said, "Uh, duh".

A smirk crossed his face. "Have you finally learned to shut up now?"

The comment jarred me out of my state, and I scowled. "I guess you'll just never outgrow your attitude."

"Neither will you, so I suppose that's one similarity I'll have to concede for now." Carefully, he took back his hand, nodding to my guitar. "So what sort of noise have you been engaged in this time?"

"If you don't want to hear it, then leave," I sighed.

"Oh, I want to hear it," Crossing his arms across his chest. "Go on, then."

"I'm feeling kind of conscious, maybe you could go back to your dormitory and listen from there."

He considered this quite carefully. "No, thanks."

Sighing, I placed my guitar on my lap, my fingers running against the shiny plastic of my pick. "Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"What I'm assuming you're good at." He said helpfully. "After all, you said it yourself."

"Well, uh," I struggled to remember the songs I had in my mental inventory. "Do you even _know_ any songs?"

"Is that honestly a valid question?" He snorted. "Furthermore, does it matter? I'm asking for a one-time display of your talent, not a three-day music festival."

"Oh, well then," I frowned. "Here goes nothing."

Shifting consciously on my seat, I positioned my fingers upon an E chord, and began to strum. After about the length of a verse, his eyebrows rocketed up his forehead.

"Are you going to start singing any time soon?"

"Well I-" At this point, my fingers slipped on the strings and made an unpleasant sound, and we both cringed. "I don't sing."

"But I thought you said you did well in music?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm good at singing, or playing the trumpet, or beat boxing."

"Beat boxing?" He queried with a tone of disdain.

"That's not important." I said dismissively.

"I should hope not." He sighed. "Sing."

Casting him an uncomfortable look, I opened my mouth a tiny degree.

"_I am nothing now, and it's been so long _

_Since I've heard a sound_

_The sound of my only hope._

_This time, I will be listening._

_Sing us a song, and we'll sing it back to you._

_We could sing our own, but what would it be without you?"_

Ending on a slowly strummed A5, I cut the song and cleared my throat, then stood up. "Okay, I'm done. I'm going now."

"You're not half bad, Asher. Not bad at all," He commented reluctantly, standing up as well. His shadow, tall from his evident advantage in height, fell over me. "You _do_ know something, don't you?"

"Maybe."

"But definitely not about kissing."

"Oh, you-" I snapped, incensed. A look of malevolent pleasure passed his face.

"Is your face heating up again?"

"Honestly, that's none of your business."

"Well, then, here's something that's part of my business." He cleared his throat. "Why are you out of bed at this time?"

"I told you," I replied, miffed. "I couldn't sleep."

"Fair enough. Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Because I was thinking about-" I stopped in my tracks, catching myself. A large smirk formed on his lips. My mouth curled down.

"Me?" He suggested.

"No need to be all smug about it," I shrugged, feigning disinterest and coupled nonchalance. "After all, you gave me a riddle."

"Have you figured it out, then?" He asked.

"Well, it's not exactly something I can Google the answers of," I muttered under my breath.

"Oh, well, that's too bad," He sighed. "Good night, Blake Asher."

"Aw, come on!" I said in exasperation as he began to walk away. "Why won't you just tell me?"

"I was hoping you'd figure it out." He turned back around.

"But _why_?"

"Because I also don't know the answer, to be completely frank." He said with a great amount of disinterest.

"Oh, great," I mumbled in exasperation.

"Blake Asher."

"Uh huh?"

"How would you like a lesson in kissing?"

* * *

A/N: OH CRAP.

What happened, I wonder? :")

Leave a review, I love you! :3


	15. Smile

Chapter 15

In the curtain of darkness, I blinked in an expression of my absolute disbelief. My mouth opened and closed, like a useless gaping fish, staring out at its owner from inside a tiny glass bowl. My voice box had continuous battles with the messages my brain seemed to be sending, the latter fighting a losing war. Focusing all my remaining energy on speaking, I finally managed to squeak out a tiny, strangled question.

"What?"

In a tremendous effort to exude patience, he repeated his words in a slower, more deliberately awkward tone. "How would you like a lesson in kissing?"

Then again, the redundancy of the question seemed to eternally render me into speechlessness. I saw the light reflected in his eyes roll around – obviously, he was exasperated.

"Unless of course, you're going to stand there and act like a complete idiot – in which case, I'll be going now," Shaking his head, he proceeded to turn on his heel, and took resolute steps towards the classroom door. In a heavy panic, I did all but trip over my feet following him.

"Wait, Draco," I called, the feeling of stupidity growing in each second that passed. However, he turned and cast me a questioning look.

"Yes, Asher? What is it that you need?" He asked in a contemptuous tone, his lips pursed slightly.

Oh, his lips. Why do they have to be so attractive? I could just -

Wait, _what_?

"Nothing," I mumbled, thoroughly embarrassed by both my actions and my thoughts. An amused smirk crept onto his face.

"What is it that you're so afraid of, Blake Asher?" He pointed a slim finger at his chest. "Me?"

I remained quiet, a little offended. Was it so abnormal that I couldn't seem to express my feelings? Did it always have to translate into random fits of idiocy? That was so prejudice. But he carried on, still riding on the high of his amusement.

"I won't hurt you, you know. Contrary to popular belief, my blood isn't made out of venom. Nor am I going to, ah, _kill_ anyone out of pure spite," At the last remark he seemed to flinch, as though he were regretting it at that exact moment. "So I'm sure that if we come into contact you won't spontaneously combust. Well, not immediately, anyway."

Was that supposed to be a joke? British humor was a little obscure to me - if they even have such thing as British humor. What makes it so different from American humor? The accent? The continent?

Wait, Blake, Draco sounds like he's saying something. Let's focus.

"All I want," He continued, oblivious to my constant intrapersonal debates. "Is for you to understand what you did wrong that night, and what I hope you'll do right the next time. Are you up to that?"

"I – uh…" I fumbled around for my words. "There's, um, going to be a next time?"

"I would assume so," He replied professionally. "Otherwise our current conversation, albeit one-sided, would be rather pointless."

"Right," I replied, as I began to regain my footing. "And you'll walk me through it?"

"Of course," He snapped. "A clumsy girl like you would probably get tangled in her own limbs before anything really happened."

Of _course_ he's going to find a way to kill the hope that he's grown infinitely more generous with his personality. This is fucking Draco Malfoy we're talking about, right?

"You're right," I said, trying to calm myself with the thought that I might at least get a few answers out of tonight's event.

"I know," He answered boredly, as if this should be evident.

"Teach me," I stated with finality, a little surprised at myself for my sudden sprint for boldness.

Cold fingers wrapped around my wrists, and I found myself steered towards him. In a moment, I felt my hands raised to rest gently on his lean shoulders, and he left them there, letting his grip drop to land on my waist. In off-guarded shock, I felt by breath hitch up in the general area of my chest, and my heart's pounding echoed annoyingly through my ears. The scent of him spun around me, and I felt dizzy watching him move, as if in slow-motion, to lean down towards me. My eyes fluttered close, waiting for him. I felt his breath flit over my skin, and I braced myself. _This is it._

Suddenly, a loud bang sounded through the classroom and, in my fright, I jumped back, fearing for my life. All hope for a tranquil kissing lesson had popped like a soap bubble above my head, and I heard Draco's voice, low and intense only moments ago, reach new heights of seemingly unchallenged anger.

"What the _fuck _d'you think you're doing?" He bellowed – all I could see was the platinum blonde back of his head, but his body language was agitated and slightly menacing. For a moment, I thought it was my fault – that he was ready to storm out of the classroom and I'd have to torture myself for starting back at square one. But an equally aggravated voice answered Draco's.

"I might ask _you_ the same question, _Malfoy_!" The other growled. "Out of bed at this hour, are you?"

Edging sideways, I glimpsed a bright-red head bob up and down, and I caught the angry face of Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's friend (who still seemed to have something against me, though what it was I hadn't the slightest clue), glaring at Draco. However, this sight was quickly robbed from me, as Draco's back hindered my vision from going any further when his back stepped in the way.

"Don't play responsible prefect with me, Weasley," Draco snapped. "Don't tell me you didn't come looking for an empty classroom, hoping to catch a snog with your neurotic girlfriend."

At this, I thought I heard a high voice squeak, "_Let's just leave, Won-won_." The boy in front of me emitted a loud scoff.

"Yes, _Won-won_," Draco mocked with evident distaste. "Why don't you just find another empty classroom for your little make-out session?"

"You're lucky I'm not decking points for this, Malfoy, and you know I have every right," Ron seethed, though this seemed implausible. Perhaps he was disregarding the fact that he was out of bed at an ungodly hour as well, and that Draco was a prefect to boot. "Who're you hiding behind you, anyway? Another one of your little tiny-brained Slytherin fans?"

"You were on your way out, Weasley," Draco lifted a stiff finger to the door.

"It's not – it's that Asher girl, isn't it?" Ron Weasley gasped, having chanced a risky look around Draco. I felt my face heat up considerably behind my human shield.

"Get _out_," Draco seethed, somewhat beside himself.

"I knew that girl was trouble from the beginning, didn't I tell Harry!" Ron mused angrily. "And now she's hanging out with the worst of the worst!"

"Let's just go, Won-won," the other voice urged Ron. Draco stood, silent, waiting, annoyance written all over his posture.

"We'll settle this another time, Malfoy," Ron said as a departing statement, and I heard heavy footsteps exit the classroom, the door slamming shut behind them. Once again, everything submitted to silence. A heavy, irritated sigh escaped Draco's lips, and I saw him shake his head.

"Um," I ventured to make a sound, and he turned, eyebrows raised at me. I clamped my mouth shut immediately, not wanting to push his bad mood further along the path.

"Looks like we're cutting short today, Asher," He said, as though for the entire world this were just another one of his bad tutoring sessions in the library. However, he didn't miss the expression on my face, and he scoffed. "Disappointed?"

"I was hoping to settle this chapter of my life tonight," I admitted, slightly put out. All he did was shrug, as though this meant nothing more to him than a little experiment – which, to me, was a little hurtful.

"I'm guessing it's not the right time to do so, then," He flicked his finger towards the door. "Shall we?"

Shall we what? Tango until the night has ended, staring lovingly into each other's eyes? Or are we going to walk awkwardly out of this God-forsaken classroom with me bitterly contemplating the loss of opportunity?

Seriously. Memo to me: maim Ron "Carrot-Top" Weasley before the end of tomorrow.

I'll have to switch on my "slow and painful mode" on my imaginary chainsaw.

I didn't even reply, just sort of stomped out of the classroom in an annoyed huff, hitching my guitar up as I passed. I thought I heard a small chuckle escape Draco's lips, but decided to ignore it – I was still too sour about the transpired events to consider my actions the slightest bit amusing. However, even as I tried to distance myself from him, his longer frame carried him much farther – in less than a moment, he had caught up with me. Casually, he slid his hands into his pockets, looking cool and unconcerned.

"You're suddenly in a foul mood, Asher," He observed smartly. Incensed, I did not answer, only turned my face away in an attempt to communicate my intention to keep silent out of shame. Smart as he was, he still proceeded to ask (more to annoy me than really to know), "Why the long face?"

"Why ask if you already know the answer?" I frowned, not even bothering to withhold the truth. He shrugged.

"I need to hear it come from you," He replied simply. "So I can use it as leverage to make fun of you for the rest of your natural life."

"Hey," I snapped my head to him, disapproving. "In case you don't remember, your fit of anger didn't go quietly unnoticed either, so –"

"And so what if I got mad?" He snorted. "I do it all the time. _You_ should know that."

Damn it, he was right. There was no getting around this dude, was there? Fucking arrogant, good-looking prick.

Interpreting my silence correctly, another attractive smirk crossed his face.

* * *

Lunch the next day was more of a forced topic than anything else. Blaise, noticing I had not eaten breakfast (partly because I had slept in, and mostly because I didn't really want to face Draco Malfoy, in the possibility that he would show up and mock me the entire time), had both sweet-talked and threatened me to be a responsible, healthy child and eat three meals a day. Despite my loud and rather unreasonable whinings and physical assaults, he had dragged me out of the common room, chastising me nonstop about how I was being an oversized crybaby.

"What's the problem, anyway, Blake?" Blaise demanded, thoroughly exasperated at my attitude. He had stopped me outside the Great Hall, where a low buzz of student conversation flitted in and out. I crossed my arms across my chest firmly.

"I don't like being forced to do something I _clearly_ stated I don't want to do," I spat. He rolled his eyes pointedly at me, then pulled on a strict face.

"Please, don't act like a simple-minded twelve year old," He snapped. "What's this really about? Are you trying to ignore someone?"

"I-" I stopped in my verbal tracks, frowning deeply. Yeah, so what if I was?

"Yes? I'm listening," He raised an eyebrow. I made to retort angrily again, but at that moment, something else caught his eye, and he instantly turned his attention to it. "Potter."

I snapped my head, finding Harry Potter standing at the entrance of the Great Hall, a blatantly sour expression on his face. In a cold voice, he replied. "Zabini. Asher."

Woah. Last name basis. When did the super nice Harry Potter suddenly become such a diva?

Oh yeah, he's probably still all pissed at me from last night. God, what a class one girl.

"If you're done trying to pointlessly eavesdrop on our conversation, you may pass," Blaise said sarcastically, and, with a flourish of his hand, gestured to the castle exit. Harry stared meaningfully at my face, and I turned beet red with embarrassment. To save myself the trouble, I averted my gaze, deliberately ignoring any contact with him. "Also, if you're finished gawking at my friend, you may get your creep certificate at the headmaster's office."

With a derisive snort, Harry pushed his way between us, not even bothering to apologize for elbowing my shoulder. Even Blaise looked slightly appalled, but covered it up quickly with a questioning gaze that could only have meant that he had turned his attention back to me.

"So? Start talking."

"Well, I ran into Harry Potter last night-" I began, but he cut me off with the raising of his pale palm.

"And, let me guess," He pursed his lips. "You two had a very awkward conversation that resulted in one of you storming out, and now there is awkward tension between you?"

"Well, uh, yeah." Let's go with that. It's so much better when Blaise figures it out, even though it's totally wrong – just so that he feels better about himself, and about the world in general. Though why one like him would need some sort of ego-booster was still a mystery to me.

"Why didn't you say so?" Here, he put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulders so tight I thought my head was going to pop off. "That's a good Slytherin girl."

"Ha ha," I said weakly, and, without another meaningless interrogation, he walked me into the Great Hall. Lunch was in full swing, and various people were sharing loud jokes that caused much louder laughter, or concerning themselves in some sort of school gossip. One group in the Ravenclaw table seemed to be having a heated debate, with one bespectacled guy pointing a chicken leg accusingly at a fellow housemate. Blaise pulled me to sit on the bench at our respective eating area. Much to my relief, Draco was not yet present – however, much to my aggravation, Theodore Nott was. With a sly smile, Blaise positioned me beside him, and he turned to me, smiling.

"Hey, Blake," He greeted. "Didn't see you this morning."

"Yeah, I slept in," I replied nonchalantly, scooping some mashed potatoes onto my plate. He watched me intensely, which fueled the urge to pinch him in the balls.

"Oh, rough night last night?" He asked.

"No, just spent a lot of time thinking," I answered vaguely, wishing he'd just stop and continue on with his sadly transgressed life.

"Oh, really?" He grinned cheekily, and I knew a super annoying comment would follow. "About me, I hope?"

"Um," I chose to say, to ensure I wouldn't let slip the fact that he was the last thing on my things to ponder on. He seemed to interpret this as a "yes", though, and plowed on.

"Seriously though, have you given tomorrow a thought?"

"What's tomorrow?" I asked, now thoroughly sincere.

"You're…" He looked a little taken aback, but this did not seem to dampen his spirits. "You're kidding, right? It's Friday tomorrow, Blake."

"Friday?" I blinked. "Like the Rebecca Black song?"

"Who?" He and Blaise asked in chorus. _Right_. YouTube is inaccessible at this timeframe. Thank God.

"No one," I replied quickly. "What's on Friday?"

Ooh, a concert? The one where people mosh and stuff? Or are we going to have like a visit to some Alcoholics Anonymous session? I love those, even though I can't even hold my liquor. Sounds like fun.

"Well, you know, our date. On Friday. You know, you and me?"

Oh. _That._ And I got all my hopes up. Tch.

"Oh, uh, yeah, the…" I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "The date."

"Have you thought about it?" He urged, abandoning his food wholly. I poked at a potato wedge and shifted my butt in my seat.

"Actually, Theodore, I-"

"Is there some sort of intense conversation I'm interrupting?" A voice drawled, and Draco Malfoy settled beside Blaise, who answered him.

"Not that it would matter much to you if there actually were," Blaise smirked. "But Theodore was just in the middle of asking Blake out for tomorrow. A fact she seemed to have forgotten."

I would have shot Blaise a really mean look, but my intentions were veered off direction as I caught the expression on Draco's face – it was stony and angry, his eyes burning holes into the spot beside me. Upon more intelligent observation, I saw that he was glaring with immense focus at Theodore Nott – who, in his state, seemed unperturbed. In fact, he seemed altogether smug.

"So, what do you say, Blake? Are we good for tomorrow?" At this, he deliberately placed his hand on top of mine, and gave my fingers a light squeeze.

Completely horrified, I pulled my hand away, summoning up all my willpower to ensure I didn't wipe it on my shirtfront. In that second, Theodore's ego seemed to crumble before my eyes, and he looked unashamedly surprised. I felt kind of bad, but what could I do? I didn't want him to give me some sort of lusty contact disease. Especially the kind like sore eyes, or whatever.

"I'm… I'm sorry," I spluttered, feeling guilty. "I just – uh… I don't really… I don't really date. You know. People."

"It's okay, Blake," Blaise interrupted. "Not that I would know, but I hear Theodore is a real animal in-"

"Maybe some other time," I cut through him quickly. "But I'm not good for this now. Sorry."

An awkward silence settled upon us, and I could see the tension enveloping our side of the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Draco's face – it had quickly changed to something that resembled triumph and – wait, it couldn't be. It looked a hell of a lot like pride in my words.

Oh, score.

Theodore cleared his throat, and I could see in his face that he was trying to invent the quickest way to smoothly get out of the situation. Giving him the benefit of time, I waited patiently for his reply.

"That's too bad, Blake," He sighed, though I could hear the twinge of annoyance in his voice. "I was hoping we could spend some more quality time together, you know?"

"Um, right," I said slowly. "I guess."

"Don't worry, I'm certain you'll say yes sooner or later," Regaining his inbred confidence, he smiled at me and turned to his plate, eating as though I had not just shot him down.

Wow. This guy's self-esteem is so massive, it far surpasses even that of Draco's and Blaise's put together. In some ways, I'm impressed. Not everyone can have a narcissistic side so large it cushions any and all negative emotion. I applaud you, Theodore Nott.

At a loss for words, however, I simply nodded dumbly and returned to my food – but not before I saw Blaise shoot me a murderous "_We'll talk later" _look.

Draco cleared his throat. "If you're both done with unnecessary blabbering, I'd just like to remind you – Asher, much as it pains me to admit, you're lagging behind in class again, and it's beginning to reflect on my reputation."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a finger to signal he was not finished.

"Therefore, we will continue whatever lessons I see fit for you over the Christmas break _starting_," He threw me a look. "After lunch."

In the event that he had finally chosen to keep quiet, I let out a loud whine.

"What? But it's Christmas break! I don't need to study over Christmas break!" I argued. He raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Your incompetence is _your_ flaw, Asher, not mine. Should you choose not to go, then it still is none of my concern. However, your failing grades are a little embarrassing to behold."

"I'm not failing! I've been getting g – _ow_!"

Wincing, I rubbed the tender spot where my knee had been brutally collided with by something solid. Draco Malfoy shot me a significant look, and I expressed my confusion by contortion of facial features. He responded by rolling his eyes, as was tradition.

"One o'clock, library, catch my drift?" He pressed. I began to respond irritably, but I saw his eyes widen in an attempt to somehow mentally communicate with me – and something inside my brain snapped its fingers and said, "_Ohhhh! Got it"_, while my heart leaped in my chest.

"Yeah," I grumbled, with outstanding effort. "Fine."

"Good." Without another comment, he proceeded to haughtily eat his lunch.

Picking at my now unappetizing food, I did all I could to suppress a smile.

* * *

"You go ahead, Asher – and wait quietly there, might I add." Draco pointed his fork sharply at me. I nodded once, and walked stiffly out the door. No sooner had I taken a step out, however, did someone grab my arm and yank me quite painfully. Crying out, I stumbled right into the chest of Blaise Zabini.

"Mind explaining what _that_ was all about, Blake?" He raised an eyebrow. Clearing my throat, I pushed myself off his front and stamped on my most innocent gaze.

"What was what all about, Blaise?" I asked, my voice a few notes higher than normal. He began to walk, and I followed, knowing he had insights to a little more than was accessible to my knowledge.

"You turned Theodore Nott down," He began, sounding a little accusing.

"Yeah, he's weird, did you see the way he held my hand? God, I thought I was going to burst into flames – oh, sorry," I apologized as his scowl deepened. "You guys are like, tight or whatever, right? Hey – how _do_ you know that Nott is good in -"

"That was a bad move, Blake." He interrupted, ignoring the implications of my query.

"What are you, his wingman?" I demanded.

"Believe it or not, I'm looking out for you, Blake," He shot me a look of some kind of contempt. "While you're stuck believing what you like, I'm trying to pull you back down into reality. Theodore Nott likes you. According to many, that is a great honor."

I raised an eyebrow, and he waved my unspoken question away.

"However, turning him down is probably one of the worst ideas you could ever have had."

"And why is that?"

"Because when Theodore Nott wants something, he gets it. And," He pointed a slim finger at me. "Draco Malfoy still isn't in love with you."

Of _course_ he's not in love with me. Who gave him that idea anyway? All we were was in this apparently perpetual state of limbo wherein mutual feelings are equivalent to a major mindfuck.

"Of course your sagely advice is so timely, Blaise, really," I snapped. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Besides, not everything in my decisions involve Draco Malfoy."

"And about turning down Nott? Was Draco Malfoy a part of that?"

"No, of course not. I told you, Nott is a creepy guy who probably thinks we're going to hook up after the first few hours of being alone together," I shuddered.

This is not _entirely_ true. I couldn't deny to myself that I had turned Nott down in the hopes and idea that Draco would, actually, somehow (by some form of heavenly possession) ask me out.

But, of course, denying it to _Blaise_ was a different story altogether.

"Still," He said, uncertain. He pondered this in silence, however, as we turned the corner and entered the quiet library. Deftly, I wandered the maze of bookshelves, arriving at the table designated for mine and Draco's study hours. "How come you guys study in the farthest, most stuffy corner of the library anyway?"

"Because Draco doesn't want to be seen with me, duh," I stated, like this should be obvious. He shrugged.

"Fine. Have it your way, then. But the next time Theodore Nott asks you out, just be sensible and say yes, okay?" I made a face which he ignored, and he strolled out of the area as though he were taking a leisurely walk in the park. Plopping down on the chair, I sighed.

What the hell? Why do I have to study anyway? I'm not failing – besides, it's Christmas break. No one fails Christmas break. I drummed my fingers against the wood of the desk, impatient. What was Draco going to make me do now – read Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_? God, I hated that book. But I loved Jim Carey in the movie.

Just then, I heard a shuffle of noise, which sounded like footsteps walking briskly through the library pathways. Immediately, I stood up from my chair – though why I did this was somewhat unknown to me. Stupidly, I ventured to call out, in the tiniest voice. "Um, Draco?"

But it was a new voice that entered the fray. "Malfoy. What did you do?"

The sound of movement ceased, and I heard Draco's cold voice respond. "What on earth are you going on about, Nott?"

"Don't pretend like you didn't have anything to do with Blake Asher turning me down," Nott growled.

"What do I care about Blake Asher turning you down?" Draco seemed highly uninterested. "Perhaps she really just felt uncomfortable around you. Maybe she doesn't even like you."

"What _is_ it that you're doing to her, Malfoy? Are you brain washing her?"

"I have no interest in what Blake Asher does with her life, nor with you," But his following words seemed to prove otherwise. His tone was haughty and slightly mocking. "However, if you insist to know, maybe you'll find her affections back in the place they should be."

"Which is?"

"You're not particularly bright, Nott, but even you should make sense out of what I said."

"Are you mad, Draco?" Nott snorted. "What makes you think that Blake Asher is back in the game with you?"

"What makes you think she was _ever_ in the game with _you_?" Draco countered.

"Fine. Keep your ego if you must, but you should know that, one of these days, she'll give up on you," Nott warned.

"Oh, I highly doubt that, Nott," Draco returned with forced pleasantry. "Believe what you must to keep your dignity – but don't say I didn't warn you to forego pursuing Blake Asher. As far as I can tell, I have no doubts in saying that she's mine."

Scooting back into place, I perched myself precariously on the edge of my seat, pretending I had not heard anything. However, I was betrayed by his quick arrival, as he raised a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Why is your face all red?"

"Because I… um…" I coughed, pretending I couldn't bring myself to speak. A slow smirk spread across his face.

"You're a nosy eavesdropper, Asher."

I didn't reply, though why I thought I had to was unnecessary. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up – needless to say, I was surprised.

"Um, I thought we were studying," I wondered.

"We are," He motioned for me to follow, and I trailed his footsteps as he exited the library through a less common path.

"Is this an astronomy lesson? Because it's the middle of the damn day," I pointed out.

"It's your make-up lesson, Asher, quit harking on like a smartass," He ordered. I zipped my mouth shut, and he led me through various winding passageways, not hesitating a step in. My thighs had almost given way, and I had begun to desperately consider if I could ask him to just carry me, when he stopped in his tracks, and I narrowly missed ramming into his back. He turned to me and gestured around. "Your study area."

I looked around – there was absolutely nothing, not a single piece of God-forsaken furniture in the circular room which we stood in. The ceiling rose high above our heads, as though we were in a dome. There were no windows, no other openings except the one small door we had passed through to get in. Sunlight streamed from top of the structure, the glass filtering the lightwaves into small, fine streams of gold.

"I don't get it," I remarked in a terribly unhappy voice. "Where's the desk?"

"There's no need for a desk." He replied simply.

"No books?"

"None."

"Wands? Spells, or incantations?"

"No."

"Well, then," I rolled my eyes. "What do I need?"

"What you need, Asher," He said smartly. "Is to look at me."

Willingly, I did so. The high noon sun hit his face at just the right angles, highlighting the best contours of his facial framework. A bright glow rimmed his eyes, like a grey cloud shifting with a golden lining. I felt my mouth go dry.

"You know, you don't look half bad in this light," He commented, killing my impressed mood.

"Well," I said, slightly affronted. "I suppose that's the only kind of compliment I'll get out of you, no matter how mediocre it might be."

"Yes, be proud of yourself," He agreed. "I don't talk to many other dim-witted girls out there."

"That's good to know."

I felt his hands press against my skin, and he pulled my face up, his fingers shaping themselves around my jaw. Falling quiet, I watched as the ghost of a smile graced his lips.

"From now on, Blake Asher," He murmured quietly. "I am the only one who can do this to you."

And he leaned in as my eyes fluttered close, just before our lips met.

* * *

**Author's Note: So, like. Please don't kill me. :(**

**I'm sorry I haven't been able to update as much - college is killing both my free time and my creativity. But I'm using this chapter for more leverage into Draco/Blake relationship. Especially because some people have been itching to see some voluntary love from Draco. I don't know about you, but I have. Ahaha. **

**Anyway, I hope you guys can drop a review! I know i'm not fast at updating anymore, but please still tell me what you think! and if you're interested in following me on Twitter, drop a line at blkasher (i know, right). I _might_ want to make another extra OC character here, but you'll have to tell me first if you think it's a good idea. Or if you want to be one, why not. :)) **

**So. Draco and Blake kissed. I'm tingling. :3 **

**Also, if you want to leave your opinions: what did you think of the final Harry Potter movie? I'm so sad it's ended. :( But not to worry! Potter will live on forever! :D**

**Drop a review, I love hearing from you! :)**

**Aimee**


	16. Ignorance

"Well, Asher, you're looking particularly chipper this morning," Blaise observed as I sat down to join him for breakfast. I didn't reply at first, merely took my time to survey the lavish set up in laid before my eyes. With massive deliberation, I piled two pancakes and a muffin on top onto my golden plate. I had busied myself in cutting a piece off my food that I had almost forgotten that my friend had said anything – almost, if not for him clearing his throat, as a cue for my response. Still, I took the liberty to carefully pop the slice of pancake in my mouth, chewing it with such a dragging slowness that it might have put someone to a stupor. I then swallowed my food (quickly this time, as I knew any more cautionary effort in this action would render me choking and dead), and met Blaise's eyes, which were filled with a massive amount of impatience. In annoyance, he reiterated: "Well?"

"Well, what?" I asked innocently.

"You're the winner of the Miss Good Vibes of the Day award."

"Yeah," I shrugged. "So?"

"_So? _Mind telling me why you're all peaches and cream?" He snapped.

"Should there really be a reason?" I raised an eyebrow high. "Couldn't I have just woken up on the right side of the bed this morning?"

"Knowing you?" He pointed his fork at me, where a piece of bacon dangled dangerously off the end. "No."

"Well, I did, and there's nothing more to it," I sang, popping another bite of muffin into my mouth. He eyed me critically, like he was just waiting for the moment when another head popped out from my neck – perhaps if he blinked, he'd miss the miracle.

"So I take it that everything went well with Draco yesterday?" He added with an air of nonchalance. My muffin lodged itself into my suddenly dry throat. The nerves in my brain started sending out panic signals all over my body at the speed of sound. It took a tremendous amount of effort and a quick 10 to 1 countdown in my head for my hand to stop trembling.

"What're you talking about?"

Oh, _good_. God forbid my mouth betrayed me now and made me say something ultimately stupid, like, I don't know. _How did you __**know**_?

"Your tutoring sessions," he replied, taking his turn to cock an eyebrow. "With Draco. Who is your tutor."

"Oh, yeah," My heart rate began to slow down. Not busted. "It was okay. Nothing new. Maybe a little less shouting on his end."

Maybe a little less verbal interaction, but now was not the time to expose unnecessary truth in the tale.

"I'm not entirely sure why this surprises me," Blaise snorted. I threw him a sour look reserved especially for him.

"Is it so difficult to believe that I could be doing something right?" I frowned, slightly appalled.

"Knowing you?" He repeated, his face now molding into something that resembled triumph. "Yes. It is."

It dawned on me that our places had switched in the course of a seven minute interaction – now, Blaise was hovering some form of teasing above my head, while I sat around, irritated. Huffing, I turned back to my food, regretting I had prolonged such a pointless conversation in the first place.

The amused expression on Blaise's face folded back into a questioning look, followed by a smirk in the direction just past my ear.

"I'd say _don't turn around now_ but that would just prove pointless," His blue eyes motioned for me to look behind me. "Go on, have a look."

I swiveled my head past my shoulder, only to come face to face with the sight of Theodore Nott strutting down the length of the Great Hall, as if he were some male model plodding down the catwalk with a black bathrobe and a green tie. I grabbed my glass and took a big gulp of orange juice to calm my suddenly upset stomach.

"It seems as though Theo's got a new plaything," Blaise added, looking like he might just break out into a fit of never ending laughter.

I noted with a great amount of distaste that Blaise was right. Hanging from his arm like a sick cat was the fifth year kid whose constant inquiries about my nonexistent love life drove me up the wall nearly every evening. Yesterday, she had even poked her head into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth to ask me if it was true that I turned down Theodore Nott on a date. Needless to say, I screamed my head off, yelling at her to get the fuck out while brandishing my foamy toothbrush at her like a ten meter lightsaber. We didn't talk much after that.

Together, they sat down in front of us, the fifth year girl eyeing me with a smug smile that made me cringe. Was it such a big achievement that she had invaded the private space of a self-proclaimed Mr. Smooth Lips?

Speaking of, the moment their behinds had collided with the bench, they turned to face each other, holding a kissing scene from a Valentine's Day movie in live before our eyes. Blaise looked shock, but quickly shook it off, apparently used to the turn of events. My reaction, on the contrast, went something along these lines:

Ew. Ew. EW. _EW_. **EW.**

Fucking sick. Like no one's trying to eat here. And for the record, it's not _me being bitter because I'm not getting any_, as Blaise would probably put it if I voiced my opinion out to him. It's just not the nicest view, people playing a game of tonsil hockey while I'm trying to down some nice flapjacks. Still, I threw Blaise a disgusted look – he shrugged and raised an accusing eyebrow. His expression translated something along the lines of how it was my fault, and how this wouldn't be happening if I had just said yes to Theodore Nott's offer, and then I'd be the one there making out with the most repulsive yet good-looking boy on the face of the earth.

So I broke eye contact with him.

Just as it seemed as though they were turning blue, they decided to disengage, faces flushed and the fifth year girl looking particularly pleased. Theodore glanced at me, his expression a cross between arrogance and satisfaction.

Why was everyone so hellbent on stealing my joy today? Couldn't I be happy for just one morning? Damn you, self-righteous assholes.

"Care to tell us who's graced us with their presence this fine morning, Nott?" Blaise asked, eyeing the girl with curiosity.

"Oh, right, forgot introductions," Theodore laughed. "Blaise, this is Alise Chenoweth. She's in her fifth year. Alise, baby, this is Blaise Zabini –"

"Oh, I know," She giggled. "I know _all_ about you, Blaise."

"Oh. Well that's… Kind of you," Blaise blinked, now unsure of the suggestive tone in her voice. "Thank you, Alise. We haven't met before, have we?"

"No, but I know _you_." She answered, injecting a mysterious tone into her voice. Blaise's upper lip curled into something of an attempt to smile.

"And you already know each other, don't you, Blake?" Theodore addressed me. "You're practically the only ones in the girls' dormitory these days. I hear you're friends. Quite close, actually."

"Friends being the operative word," I replied curtly. I didn't know what about swinging my toothbrush at her face made her think we were friends, much less _close_ friends, but I decided to save the interrogation on this topic for later.

"Oh yes, Blake and I have _so_ much fun in the girls' dormitory," Alise chirped, winking at me. I threw her a horrified look.

"Oh, really?" Theodore raised an interested eyebrow. Blaise also looked at me, questioning. "What kind of fun?"

"Girl fun," She stated vaguely, a smirk crawling upon her lips. I made a face, just as Blaise choked down a laugh behind a poorly drawn cough.

"It sounds like something I should get into," Theodore mirrored her sly smirk, and the sight of it and its insinuations all but pushed my breakfast back up my throat. I slammed my palm down on the surface of the table so hard, the silverware clattered like New Year's Celebration. Everyone started and stared at me like I'd gone back into crazy caveman mode.

"So, Theodore," I piped in, trying to keep my voice pleasant. "How did you and Alise meet?"

"Oh, well, that's a funny story," Alise answered, unaware that I hadn't addressed her at all. "Last night, after dinner, you see, Theodore was taking a walk out in the courtyard-"

"And then I saw this beautiful redhead girl sitting in the winter snow, like an angel-" Theodore smiled.

"He came up to me and said –"

"Okay, that's good enough," I interrupted them. "Not that I was asking for your marriage proposal story, but okay."

"Oh, Blake," Alise laughed. "You're so funny."

"Yes, Blake," Blaise snorted. "Hilarious to another level."

"Side splitting, really," Theodore agreed. My temper flared a bright red in my mind.

"So you just met yesterday?" I pressed. "You seem really close. Like best friends. With all the kissing and the holding and all."

"Well, actually, around here we call it dating," Theodore replied, throwing me an annoyingly meaningful look.

"Oh, I see. Well, where I come from, we call it pedophilia," I stated sweetly. "And it's actually punishable by law in most, if not all parts of the United States of America. You know. Just sharing."

An awkward silence punctuated this little fun fact of mine, followed by an eye roll from Blaise that clearly spelled _are you fucking kidding me_.

Without further comment, the newly branded couple began taking food and transferring it onto their plates. The timely appearance of Draco Malfoy at that moment pushed the uncomfortability up a notch.

"Malfoy," Blaise greeted, not looking up from his plate.

"Zabini, Nott," Draco nodded. His eyes fell upon Alise Chenoweth, who blushed upon eye contact. "Who are you?"

"Oh, Malfoy, this is Alise, do you know her?" Theodore put in helpfully. Alise nodded her head vigorously; so much so that I thought it would just about pop off her shoulders.

"No," Draco said flatly. He made no move to greet her, but simply surveyed the two possible seating areas: next to Alise, or next to me. A snide look of contempt passed across his face, and with a heavy sigh, he sat down next to me, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Wordlessly, he immersed himself into his morning meal, not bothering to indulge any of us with even a smidge of polite conversation. No one else seemed to notice anything different, and continued with whatever it was they were eating as though he had not even arrived. I, on the other hand, felt a twinge of unnerving tension, and decided to crack the chill in the atmosphere.

"Um, so, Draco," I cleared my throat. He did nothing but poke at a raisin with distaste, not even bothering to look me in the eye. "Thank you for, um, yesterday."

Draco's food prodding lost momentum for a second. "Okay."

A loud cough rose up – I glared at Blaise, who looked surprised and quite innocent, for a first. He jabbed his fork at Theodore Nott, who was just about finished feigning a hack fest with a clear sneer on his face.

"Problem, Theodore?" I snapped. He choked back a rude laugh.

"No, of course not, Blake," He smiled like a cardboard cutout for a McDonald's ad. "Do carry on."

I shot him a venomous look and huffed, indignantly tearing my eyes away from his face and sticking my nose up in the air, trying to look dignified. This only resulted in a louder, much less realistic throat-clearing via Theodore Nott. I tried my best to keep down the color rising up my cheeks.

"Well, are we, uh," I fumbled for my words. "Are we going to have another session later? For _tutoring,_ that is?"

I was hoping I didn't have to elucidate what I meant by 'tutoring'. He was the master of the unspoken subliminal messages, after all.

This time, Draco ceased all food consumption, and met my gaze. There was a dreary, sort of flat look in his eyes – like he was bored, like I was wasting his time. The corners of his mouth were turned down in disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Asher, but," he laid his silverware down carefully on his plate. "Are you trying to tell me what to do?"

"What?"

"It sounds as though you're _telling_ me that I should teach you, disregarding the fact that I may have, and actually _do_ have better things to do with my life," He drawled.

I gaped.

_Are you fucking kidding me_?

Did I just dream up everything that happened yesterday? I feel like a complete dolt, and what's left of my good feeling is quickly deflating out of my system. Draco doesn't even look the slightest bit concerned, and mistakes my look of offense as an expression of pleading desperation.

"Must I really?" He sighed heavily. "Fine. But I won't be responsible for your slip-ups, Asher. Make sure to bring all your books and materials. And try to come on time. I don't _have_ to do this, you know."

"I… know," I stuttered, dumbfounded. He turned back to his plate and exhaled loudly through his nose. Finally, he slid his plate away and gingerly picked up an apple from a fruit bowl. He took a moment, examining it critically as though it were a diamond, then stood up, pocketing it.

"I've lost my appetite. See you lot later," He said with some finality, then walked away from the table. My eyes trailed after him, shell shocked. It was only after a few minutes that I realized that everyone was staring at me – Blaise especially, with a knowing, slightly exasperated expression that would be a statuesque sight reserved specifically for me. Theodore Nott was a breath away from bursting out into a fit of uninhibited laughter. But it was Alise Chenoweth who made the first move.

"Good _grief_, Blake," She shook her head, as though she were my mother chastising me for breaking décor in the house. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Huh?" I said smartly.

"Well that was just embarrassing to watch," She remarked. "Let alone experience."

I couldn't tell if she was trying to make fun of me, or trying to comfort me with her words. In any case, the only thing she managed to do was make me wish I could stick my wand up her –

No, Blake, remember. You swore off the violence.

"It really does seem as if you won't be getting much luck in the romance department, will you, darling?" She shook her head, like she was sorry for me being a forever-alone meme poster child.

Maybe I could make just a _little_ bit of an exception?

"Huh," I snapped, putting down my utensils with a definitive _bang_. "Well, excuse _me_, rebound."

Alise gasped – though, personally, I couldn't understand why. Any sensible person would know that such a rude comment would result in a snide remark. Then again, 'sensible' is not one of the three words that come into my head, should I be asked to describe her.

"Now, now, Blake," Blaise patted my hand, trying to soothe me with the low purr of '_please shut up before you're executed on the spot_' in his voice. "Let's not upset Theo's new… um… _friend_."

"She isn't my friend, and she's no rebound as well," Theodore said with an unpleasant tone. " And to clarify: you were never in my league, Blake."

"Oh, I know," I scoffed, almost choking on my saliva in the process. "That must be the reason why you asked me out in the first place."

"I felt sorry for you," He replied smoothly.

I could feel my face turning beet red at this point. "Well, I feel sorry for you. For_ both_ of you. Have a pedophilic blast, Theodore. Goodbye."

I made quite a scene of getting up and storming out of the Great Hall. I thought I heard Theodore Nott mutter something that sounded like, '_she's just bitter_._ Totally into me_ '. It took all my restraint not to hurl a couple of apples in the general direction of his face. The streak of rage just followed me out of the door, where I rammed into Professor Snape, earning me a maddening blush and a soft bout of giggles from the student body who followed my razing path of anger towards the exit.

"Miss Asher," Professor Snape greeted coldly.

"Professor, I'm so sorry," I grew steadily redder, taking a step away from the seemingly incensed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "I hadn't been looking where I was going, stupid me-"

"As of now, that is irrelevant," He replied, then raised an eyebrow. "I see you're without Mr. Zabini once again."

"Oh, well," I blinked, confused. This guy seemed pretty concerned with the trivial details. "He's not done with breakfast."

"I see," He said boredly. "Tell me, Miss Asher, if you would know the whereabouts of a certain Mr. Malfoy?"

"Um, he just left. He probably went back to the common room. Or something like that," I answered helpfully. Snape didn't seem too delighted by my reply.

"If you should see him wandering about, kindly inform him that I wish to see him in my office before the day ends."

"Is he in some sort of trouble?" I asked abruptly, then caught myself as Snape gazed at me with something that resembled questioning.

"Your concern for Draco is touching," He drawled. "But no. I only wish to discuss some matters with him. If you would pass on the message-"

"Yes, of course, Professor," I said quickly.

"Then have a good day, Miss Asher," With that, he strode off into the Great Hall, leaving me in the dust. I stared at his billowing cloak as he walked down the long aisle. This was the second time he'd asked me if I'd seen Draco around, and the second time I'd given him a negative answer. Clearly, Draco Malfoy was _in demand_ – still, it was really weird to me that Snape constantly sought him, especially because they never really seemed particularly buddy buddy, having lunch with each other everyday and whispering in class the way he and, say, Blaise would.

I shook my head. Whatever. I had my own bone to pick with the blonde.

* * *

Arriving back at the common room, I was surprised to see the area particularly empty, with the exception of two seventh-year students wrapping up a game of wizard's chess. I sat down on the couch in front of the flickering fire, observing the game as it came to a conclusion. Each player was focused intently on the board, trying to outwit the other. Finally, the person to my left made a move, his hands trembling as he placed the piece on a square.

"Checkmate," He breathed out, like he couldn't believe he'd just won. His opponent groaned in frustration and leaned back on his seat.

Suddenly, the winner's piece came into animation, the marble carving straightening up and eyeing the black king. After what seemed like a second's careful decision, it took out a blunt weapon and hacked the poor monarch into little pieces.

I stared wide-eyed at this madness. Talk about racism on a small scale.

"Better luck next time," The victor commented, wiping his brow. Obviously moving ten gram pieces on a chessboard was a feat of work, and he was a force to be reckoned with. The loser cast him an angry glare, and the two collected their pieces in silence. The chessboard made its way into the loser's bag, and he stuffed it in while muttering something incoherent.

The sound of footsteps interrupted this general quietness, and a moment later, none other than Draco Malfoy appeared at the mouth of the entrance to the boys' dormitory, still holding his apple. In his right hand was his wand, already poised for action. He seemed distracted, and would have walked right past me if I hadn't cleared my throat. At this, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, a questioning look on his face. I regarded him with a twinge of contempt.

"Yes?" He raised his eyebrows, looking uninterested.

"Professor Snape would like to see you," I informed him coldly.

"Snape?" He bounced the apple in his hand, considering. "Thank you for telling me, but I have matters to attend to."

"He wants to see you today. In his office."

"I'll take a rain check," He replied coolly. "Have yourself a good one, Asher."

"Hey," I called out, standing up from the couch. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Excuse me?" He looked amused. "What's _my_ problem?"

"Well… Yeah! That's what I asked, you don't have to repeat it," I snapped, feeling stupid. Times like these really got to me – you know, when the person you're talking to makes you feel like a total idiot and they're just so entertained by the fact that you're rolling around in your own unintelligence. Right now I felt like Howard Wolowitz being chastised by Sheldon Cooper for my failure of a master's degree in engineering. And it wasn't pleasant.

"I don't have a problem," He replied simply. "Now, if that's all, I really must be going. Goodbye, Asher."

Without even waiting for my reply, he exited through the portrait hole, leaving the entrance slightly open. I fumed, turning back to the chess players, who were now goggling like ten year old school girls with a poster of Justin Bieber.

"Well?" I snapped. "What are you looking at?"

The expressions of interest on their faces quickly fell into something like a sneer, and they hitched up their bags onto their shoulders. As they walked up into the boys' dormitory, I heard one mutter something that sounded peculiarly like "_bitch_".

But I know that can't _possibly_ be right.

"Ugh!" I flopped back down onto the couch, steaming. What was with him anyway? Yesterday he seemed okay - actually, he seemed a deal more than okay. Especially since yesterday's interesting lip-locking was initiated by him. And neither of us was drunk (or pretending to be) or falling over (in my case) or trying to piss the other person off. Actually, yesterday was really kind of sweet. And kind of cute. And pretty dreamy.

And _why_ do I sound like a hopeless romantic?

I forced the blush creeping up my neck to simmer down.

So why was he acting this way? Had I done something wrong? Was it something that happened after the kiss? All I said was, "Well, that was nice".

Is nice such an offensive word? It can't be, it was only offensive during Shakespeare's time. And I don't think Draco gave two shits about William Shakespeare. He was too busy trying to deviate away from the generic Romeo and Juliet set-up. That much was obvious.

Well, was it maybe too much of an understatement? Maybe I should have used better adjectives Something that would have made him feel proud of himself. Stupendous. Wonderful. Amazing. Spectacular. Mindblowing. Breathtaking.

But then again, he'd feel good about himself if he'd just sat down and won another argument against me.

Anyway, who am I kidding? Like anyone could think of words like those after having kissed Draco Malfoy.

I kicked off my shoes and folded my legs under me. This was so annoying. And I thought I was done over analyzing the status of our… whatever it was. Couldn't he just give me a break? It's Christmas time.

Just then, I heard the portrait door creaking open, followed by a very familiar voice calling out my name. "Blake!"

"Not now, Blaise," I snapped. The black-haired boy ignored my warning and marched over to me, looking exasperated.

"Hey, miss scene queen," He pointed a slim finger at me. "Get up. We're going to go have you apologize to Theodore and his new girlfriend."

"_Apologize_?" I cried, appalled. "You want me to apologize? That's totally uncalled for!"

"No, it's not. What was uncalled for was _you_ calling their relationship pedophilic," He rolled his eyes. "Pedophilic. Really, Blake? We're _all_ underage. This is the modern world-"

"No it isn't," I muttered, still bitter about the fact that they didn't even have Facebook. Or internet, for that matter. Or even a goddamn outlet, for crying out loud.

"Shut up, smart girl," He warned. "Besides, where do you even pick up all these words?"

"America has very strict laws on engaging in sexual relationships, willing or otherwise, with children under the age of consent," I replied in a matter-of-factly tone.

"Okay, wise cracker, I don't give a shit as to what the laws are on the other side of the world," He snapped. "Get your ass up."

"Why?" I whined unhappily. "It was the truth anyway. She doesn't even know what pedophilia means."

"She _didn't_," He corrected. "Until Theodore explained it to her. Now she's crying hysterically and he's demanding you apologize to her."

"Or what?" I frowned.

"God, I don't know!" He threw his hands up in agitation. "Must you always be on someone's bad side? First it was Draco, now it's Theodore. And I'm warning you, Blake, I'm about to be your third if you don't do something to fix this madness you caused!"

"I refuse to apologize for expressing my sentiments. It's a right, not a privilege," I replied snootily.

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should have just become a politician. _Fix it, Blake,_" He said with finality, then stormed up into the boys' dormitory. I crossed my arms in anger.

Sue me for knowing the law. God.

* * *

I'd thought that, after this whole mess was sorted out, things would go steadily uphill from there. Another one of the many things that I thought wrong, of course, but you can't blame me for trying. And it didn't just slide down gradually or whatever. My day plummeted from the top of the astronomy tower all the way down to the bottom of the black lake. Which, I hear from reliable sources (Harry, who has been down there, apparently) is an unpleasant moldy Atlantis with rabid mermaids and a foul smell of unclean filter. So you can just imagine how quickly my evening went to shit.

Theodore and Alise refused to sit with us over the course of lunch, so I had an extremely uncomfortable time eating with Blaise. Usually he was the resident chatterbox with a side of annoying, but he seemed in a fouler mood than when he had previously retreated into the dormitory. After he'd left without much more comment than a simple, "Later, Blake," I'd tried to approach the new couple after the meal, but Alise had turned down the request to talk, and Theodore had wrapped his arms around her shoulders as though protecting her from a rabid beast.

Seriously. Rabid beast. Me? Like the fact that I'd spent nearly the entire Christmas break with her incessant chitter chatter about Blaise this and Theodore that and hadn't hacked her head off with a machete isn't enough proof for you?

After that, they'd gone missing, retreating off into god-knows-where to do who-knows-what. Presently, I was left alone without so much as someone to even look at, let alone talk to. This was pretty depressing, and I spent a great amount of time hanging around the library, etching my old hangman drawing onto the table even deeper and trying to find books that didn't consist of gruesome potions instructions or information about wild beasts and mauling monsters. Needless to say, that was fruitless.

I decided to return to the Common Room, having exhausted a day that started off pretty high and awesome, and was now looking at the bottom of a five-mile well.

Throughout all these events, of course, Draco was nowhere to be found.

Blaise, who'd tried and failed to have me come eat dinner with the three of them, didn't seem to happy when I'd told him I'd botched my attempt to "patch things up". However, his attitude seemed to soften up when he'd realized I wasn't in the best state of emotions.

"Well, you tried," He sighed, taking a seat beside me on the couch. The sun was setting and the fire grew steadily bigger, casting a warm orange glow around the seemingly stone-cold living area. "That's worth something."

"I don't want to have to deal with this shit when I go up to sleep," I rubbed my eye with such force I was sure it would pop out. Blaise gave a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

"Well, you did kind of start it –" He began, but veered off into a different direction when I shot him a livid stare. "But, I mean, everyone's to blame here, alright? Except me, of course. But anyway – are you sure you don't want to go down, have a bite with me? You could always try to apologize then."

"Look, I don't even know why I have to apologize in the first place," I rolled my eyes.

"Well, you did kind of call Nott a pedophile. It's not exactly the warm, fuzzy compliment of the year," Blaise said slowly.

"Yeah, but you know I did it only because I was pissed," I shot back. "And I was only pissed because I knew Theodore was trying to get on my nerves with this whole Alise thing because I shot him down."

"That's very self-centered of you to think so," Blaise congratulated me.

"And then don't get me started on Draco, he-" I caught myself, the rest of my sentence murdered midway up my throat. Blaise cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Yes, Blake? What exactly _about_ Draco?"

"I told you not to get me started. I won't start."

"Oh, but I'm sure I'd like to get you started on that topic. Enlighten me, won't you?"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it, let's just drop it."

"Blake, did something happen last night that I should be aware of?" He snapped. "Because I thought we were something that resembled friends. And you're kind of leaving me in the dark."

"I'm not, I just – it's really nothing," I said quickly. "I mean you are my friend. I'd tell you if something happened. But nothing happened. But if the nothing was a something, you'd know. I'd tell you."

"So what about Draco did you not want to start on?" He pressed.

"He's just crabby," I mumbled. "Okay? Crabby."

"Draco is always crabby, and crabby is by far the nicest he's been to you," Blaise's eyes narrowed into ice-blue slits. "You're not a very good liar, Blake. You're talking to a Slytherin, after all."

"Could you just leave it alone?"

"Leave it alone? I think not."

"Look, I told you, Blaise, it's nothing," I said with finality. "And if you don't leave, you won't have anyone to eat dinner with."

Blaise studied me intently. It looked as though his eyes were peeling layer after layer of my skin, trying to reveal any secret. But I inched away and he stopped, shaking his head. "Fine, I'll go. Are you sure you don't want to come down?"

"And eat with _them_? I'm fine. Thank you for the kind offer. It sounds as though you're generally concerned for my well-being. It's almost touching."

"Well, that can't be right," A ghost of a smile played upon his lips. "After all, we only _resemble _friends."

"True," I nodded. "Have a blast, Blaise."

"Thanks," He stood, making his way out of he common room. Over his shoulder, he called out, "I'll try and smuggle you a few nibbles if you'd care for them."

It was quite sweet of him to say so. Especially since it didn't seem very natural for something like kindness to show through in his personality.

I sighed, leaning back on the plush couch and enjoying the warmth tickling my skin. It was comfortable, too comfortable that I'd nearly dozed off. Nearly, of course, because somewhere in the heavy subconscious of my mind, I heard a faint tapping, like a pebble hitting the glass on fast forward repeat. Reluctantly, I opened one sleepy eyelid, and turned my head to the window.

A pair of bright yellow eyes stared back at me, blinking rapidly. Shooting up, I stumbled over and pushed the glass open, allowing the black owl to swoop in. It landed neatly on the armrest, shaking the snow off its feathers. In its beak was a small envelope, with fat, curly handwriting scribbled over the back. I could just discern my name in that hand.

"Is that, um, for me?" I asked, feeling stupid that I was talking to an owl. It didn't give any sort of animal reply, just dropped the envelope onto the floor and screeched, flying back to the window and pecking the glass incessantly. With effort, I pushed it back open – and no sooner had I done so did the owl take off into the inky night.

I picked up the envelope, reading the address on the back. _Blake Asher, Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

At first, I assumed it was another Christmas letter from my parents, but I realized that the handwriting was vaguely unfamiliar. Besides, it was too girly and childish for my mom or dad to have written, anyway. Quickly, I tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of parchment, damp from the owl's journey through the mild snowstorm. I stood in front of the fire, trying to decipher the message.

_Dear Blake,_

_ How are you lot? I've missed you guys so much. Christmas was dreadfully boring here – Mother and Father took me to Scotland, and it was so dreary I all but burst into tears. I can't wait to be back there! I've talked my parents into letting me go back to Hogwarts, and they've agreed to let me return on the early train. I've heard that there's going to be a spectacular New Year's ball, have you? It'll be so exciting, and I promise I'll help you find a date and fix you up. This New Year's is going to be a blast!_

_ I'll see you soon! Say hi to Blaise for me. Oh, and give Draco my love!_

_ Pansy_

Oh, Pansy. I'd almost forgotten she'd existed. Had it been that long already?

And what was it about a New Year's ball? When did that even happen?

I shook my head, crumpling the note in my grasp. It was nice of Pansy to remember me, even though I was still iffy about her steadily growing insanity.

Also – give her love to Draco? Was she kidding me? The guy had just taken another trip down asshole lane.

Just then, my stomach began to complain, grumbling upsettingly. I grimaced, understanding it would mean I'd have to go down and face another round of Snogfest Extraordinaire. I trudged across the Common Room, resigned to a repeated attempt at a sincere apology. But when I opened the portrait door, I was surprised to see someone on the other side.

"Blake," Draco looked mildly surprised, but regained whatever composure he'd lost and climbed in through the portrait hole.

"Draco," I said flatly.

"Where are you off to, then?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Great Hall," I replied, then added coldly, "Not that it's any of your business."

"I see you're in a bad mood," He observed, eyeing the paper in my hand. "Another letter from your parents, then?"

"It's from Pansy," I answered curtly.

"Parkinson? Why on earth would she write to you?" He looked amused.

"Again, not that it's any of your concern, but she's planning on coming back to Hogwarts early," I said. "She also asked me to give you her love. So here. Have her love."

I stuffed the letter into his hand, and he pocketed it, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright," He sighed. "So what's this _really _about?"

"What's this?"

"This," He gestured to me. "Your unpleasant attitude."

"Well, you haven't exactly been the daisy in my field of grass, have you?" I retorted, quite irked. He looked slightly taken aback.

"Yes, but that much has been evident from the beginning of time," He drawled. "Not that I find this behavior unusual, but this is the first time I'd say that you've completely befuddled me with your actions. And especially after last night, I'm baffled."

"After last night?" I hissed. "You want to talk about after last night?"

"Well, unless you want to go through the sequence of events-"

"You totally messed with me!" I cried. "Last night we ki-"

"Shh," He placed a cold finger to my lips, and I vaguely noticed it smelled like apples. "Lower your voice."

"Last night we kissed and you were okay, but then just this morning I tried to talk to you, and you could barely even look at me!"

"I'm looking at you now," He replied smoothly. "And I'm admiring this slightly more assertive side of you."

"Then what was with all that bitching and ignoring you had me go through the entire day?" I demanded angrily.

"I haven't the foggiest clue what you mean," He replied simply. I threw my hands up in the air, completely out of patience.

"Oh, you _haven't the foggiest clue_? Well, we can just pretend we never had this conversation, then! Or, better yet, we can just pretend last night didn't happen at all! How about that, Malfoy? Does that suit your greater plan? Is it to your liking? Shall I carve it out in stone while we're at it?" I spat venomously.

A long silence met my last query, and he stared back at me, his eyes steely grey. My chest heaved up and down, heavy with the force of my breath.

"I see where this is going," He said flatly. "You think I've humiliated you."

"I don't think," I snapped. "You have. And I don't appreciate it."

"I never asked you to appreciate anything," He bit back, suddenly regaining a snippy demeanor. "I'll do as I please, and I don't give a damn what you think. It's my decision, and if I want to act as I do, I will. I don't need your permission."

"Oh okay," I rolled my eyes. "So I'm guessing last night was a throwaway thing. Sorry for assuming otherwise, though I should have expected as much from you."

"Excuse me," He retorted coldly. "I don't recall mentioning anything about it being a throwaway thing."

"Then kindly explain what it's supposed to mean," I fumed.

"It means that I have every right to choose whether or not I want to continue being snooty to you in public. And it just so happens that I have chosen so, and you would do well to play along. I'm not doing it just because it's entertaining, you know."

"Could've fooled me," I mumbled.

"Are you bloody stupid?" He barked. "Don't even answer that. Didn't you hear what I just said? I said I'm not doing it for the fun of it, Asher. Like it or not, I will continue acting as I have to you, and whether or not you'll take it personally is entirely your decision. But I am doing it for a reason, and you'd do me the excellent favor of keeping that in mind."

"I bet this reason is a good one," I frowned. "And it doesn't have anything to do with _doing as you please_ or some shit like that."

"I'm not just going to go prancing around telling people that, you know," He said dismissively, though I could see he couldn't find the right word for it either. "That there's something. Or whatever it is. Do you follow?"

"No, but go on, it's probably just because I'm lacking," I replied dryly. He glared at me, but the intensity of it was weak.

"It's not in our best interest as of this moment to let anyone suspect us of… whatever this is supposed to be," He sighed, exasperated.

"And why is that?"

"Because I said so, alright? Does there have to be a fucking blow-by-blow of everything that's happening for you? Merlin," He kneaded his brow tiredly. I noticed the dark crescents under his eyes, the deep frown threatening to form on his lips.

"Alright," I replied, dropping my voice. "Fine. I believe you."

"Thank you," He dropped his hand. "Now can we kindly let the matter drop? I'm ready to pass out."

"Where _have_ you been, anyway?"

His gaze fell on me, and I sighed, understanding immediately. "Okay. It's none of my business."

Draco craned his neck, doing a sweeping survey of the Common Room area. Once he was finished, he turned back to me, looking thoughtful.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," He muttered under his breath.

"What wouldn't?" I asked.

"Just to make sure that I've made my point," He smirked. "And that you understand that your affections remain with me."

Cupping my chin with his hand, he tilted my face up to his. Slowly, he descended, his lips parted slightly, to meet with mine. I braced myself for the impact, breathing slowly to calm my racing heart.

Of course, that had to be ruined nicely, by none other than –

"Oh, _Theodore_," A high voice giggled, and no sooner had we jumped apart did Theodore and Alise enter the Common Room, as entwined as two snakes in pretzel heat. Draco stepped sideways, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the painting.

"Draco," Theodore suddenly noticed us standing by the doorway. His expression hardened as he said my name. "Blake."

"Theodore," We said in unison.

"Hello, Draco," Alise said, suddenly shy – as though she hadn't been tangled in Theodore's limbs just a moment ago.

"Hello," Draco greeted rather boredly.

"Where have you been, then?" Theodore smirked at him. Draco shrugged.

"Around. Doing my business, if you follow."

"I do," Theodore jabbed a thumb at me. "So what're you doing, hanging around this one?"

"Merely having a conversation, as is legal," Draco replied.

"See you've come around to discussing politics as well," Nott spat, glaring at me. I exhaled loudly through my nose, exasperated.

"Look, Theodore, if it bothers you so much, then I'm sorry, okay? Are you happy?" I groaned.

"I've no use for your apologies. Anyway, it was my girlfriend that took the blow, and I don't appreciate you using such foul language or implications towards her or our relationship."

"Fine," I snapped. "Sorry Alise."

"Sorry for what?" She sniffed, like she _really_ had to hear it in specifics. I grit my teeth.

"Sorry for pointing out that your relationship with Theodore was against the American law on pedophilia."

It wasn't much of an apology, but she bought it.

"Fine, I guess that's alright," She said after a moment's pause of trying to see if I was making fun of her. Which I was, but she didn't catch on. Not the brightest, this one. "Now if you'll excuse us, Theodore and I have business to attend to."

With that, they walked away, stopping on a loveseat at the far end of the room to snuggle. I watched as they cuddled together, occasionally falling into bouts of kissing sprees.

"Pedophilia?" Draco echoed after a long silence.

"I was annoyed, okay? Get off my case."

"No, no. I'm impressed. Very impressed, actually," He said, amused.

"Thank you," I huffed.

"It was a compliment, a rare one, in fact."

"I know."

"Alright," He smirked. "Have a good night, Blake. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Will you be mean to me tomorrow?" I called out, not too loudly, but enough to have him scoff quietly.

"You can count on it. Good night, Asher."

* * *

**So hey, guys! I'm so sorry that I've been out of it lately - to make up for it, I've made this update longer than usual. :D I know a lot of you might have stopped reading this, but for anyone who's still out there, I'm hoping you guys can leave a review still. :)**

**So here's the thing! I'm planning on letting in _two _OCs for Theodore and Blaise respectively. So you guys can be assured that whoever their romantic love interests are right now, will be out of the picture as soon as I've picked. And when I say picked, I do mean that I will be picking from a small group of entries. That meaaaans that you guys _could_ choose to create a character that I will feature here for a few chapters, in small scenes. I can't promise to make them a hundred percent important, but just to add a few more fresh names into the mix for a small period of time, I'd like to open my inbox up to anyone who wants to play a small role in the story. And heck, if you want to just cameo for a bit of dialogue, I'm open to anything. Just to get the blood of this story pumping again.**

**Should anyone want to submit their OC, please do try to follow this simple outline:**

**Name**

**Year**

**Basic Appearance (Hair, Skin Color, Eyes, Height, any other criteria you find useful or interesting)**

**Basic Personality**

**Theodore, Blaise or Cameo?**

**Any other information you think I should know? Jot it down too!**

**Should you decide to submit an OC, please adhere to some VERY minimal guidelines. I can't have awkwardness or unrealistic elements in the storyline, so I would like to ask you guys not to put in characters that are Japanese-y, or seem like they've fallen in from the sky too - we can only have one Blake! :) Also, I would like to ask that in the "Personality" section, that one tries to avoid generic words like 'nice' or 'kind' or 'bitchy'. Try out something new, like 'feminist' or 'vegetarian' or 'only talks to people whose names start with the letter V' or any kind of crazy stuff like that. I'd really appreciate that!**

**So on the occasion that you'd like to submit, just please inbox me and leave a review that you've done so! And even if you won't submit, please do leave a review! I really love hearing from you all! **

**Stay awesome!**

**Aimee :)**


	17. Celebration

It was a little after breakfast when Pansy Parkinson returned to Hogwarts, having boarded the early train back as she had stated in her last letter. Still, her seemingly long-term absence was terminated in a manner not so much relying on her immediate physical presence, as it was in the monumental pile of luggage that invaded the Slytherin Common Room. Blaise was the first the first to find out that she had arrived – walking briskly into the common room after a hearty breakfast, he proceeded to push open the portrait hole and stride with his usual air of superiority. However, in his doing so, he failed to notice the lavish spread of bags decorating the floor. In a flurry of movement no one could decipher properly, he somehow snagged his foot into the loop of a handle and tripped, sprawling onto the floor in a graceless way no particularly handsome Slytherin should.

"What the fuck?" He demanded, pushing his sleek black hair off his face. "What in Salazar Slytherin's name is all this shit?"

Curious, I stepped over his horizontal form and flipped over a bag tag dangling off the handle of a particularly oversized suitcase – it was large enough to house a couple of ten year old children, even though I shudder at the thought. I glanced at the name printed neatly on the card, then announced, "I guess Pansy's back from her trip."

"_Parkinson!_" Blaise barked, hauling himself up, lest someone see him in his unfortunate state. "Get down here!"

"_Blaise_!" A high and overdramatic voice colored the lifeless room. It was followed by the loud thumping of heels, and consequently revealed the haughty form of Pansy Parkinson in the flesh. Despite the permanent look of condescension on her face, however, something that may have reflected joy shone through her face. She squealed loudly, as though someone were running a truck over her voice box. On eternal repeat. "God, I've missed you _all_! How have you been? _Blake!_"

I had been attempting to ease into the dormitories unnoticed – however, I had not foreseen a rather hard piece of luggage blocking the entrance, and I stubbed my toe on it, earning myself a short squeak of pain and perhaps a small blood clot in that general area. Pansy, however, seemed to have mastered the art of maneuvering through her maze of bags, and made her way over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck as though for all the world I were her teddy bear. "Oh, Blake, it's _so_ good to see you!"

"It's so good to see you too, Pansy," I replied rather reluctantly, eyeing Blaise, who was all smirks now, watching Pansy Parkinson smother me with her heavy rose perfume.

"Oh, don't worry. I know it must have been an absolute drag here without me," She let go of me, but held me at arm's length, looking into my eyes with a sad sort of sympathy. "But I'm back now. All right?"

Oh God. She's mistaken my tone of hesitation as being an emotional crybaby that's missed her presence in my life. Can this woman get any thicker?

"All right," I muttered, as she pulled me into another crushing hug.

"Well, so what's new? What've I missed? Has Saint Potter _finally_ kicked the bucket?" She added snootily, falling into the routine pattern of arrogance and Potter-bashing.

"You know very well that as long as we haven't started a tribal celebration, Harry Potter is still up and running," Blaise commented dryly. "And I don't see anyone here wearing a loincloth or wearing war paint on their faces."

"That's a shame, but it doesn't hurt to hope," She rolled her eyes. "What about you, Blake? What's up with you, then?"

"Oh, the usual. Getting lost, causing trouble and constantly giving Blaise headaches. I still speak in an American accent, so that's not changed at all," I replied.

Also, I've made out with Draco Malfoy.

But then I realize that you probably don't want to hear that, so I'll save it for a more opportune time.

"Well, what about the New Year's Ball?" She queried, casting me a sly look.

"What about it?" I raised an eyebrow. "Aside from the fact that I only knew about it when you wrote to me."

"Well, have you prepared? Have you got yourself a date?" She pressed excitedly.

"No, she's hoping that Malfoy will take her," Blaise guffawed. I flushed a deep scarlet and cast him a murderous look that didn't even sway his attitude. Pansy forced out a slightly derisive laugh.

"Oh, of course, because you're on such good terms, aren't you?" She giggled.

"Yes, of course, please do continue laughing at me, it's not as though this deeply offends me or anything," I snapped, a little irritated.

Besides, it's not as if any of you could possibly understand that I am at the best and worst terms with Draco Malfoy. Which is a bit of a bothersome headache, but when I have the 'best part' as fifty percent of our mutual agreement, I feel a little better.

"Lighten up, Blake, I was only teasing. Besides, you know that your relationship with Draco is just as good as mine is with Harry Potter," Blaise snorted.

Pansy laughed again.

_Well, Blaise, I'd love to hear about that one time you kissed Harry Potter. That would probably be a hoot and a half._

Behind my irritation, I felt positively deflated. Being in such a confusing situation always put a downer to my mood – I was already stupid, there was no need to darken the atmosphere any longer.

"Speaking of Draco, where is the lunatic?" Blaise wondered. "He hadn't gone down to breakfast, but he was missing from the dormitories this morning."

"Well it's very touching of you to think of me, Zabini," A bored voice sounded from near the portrait hole. "I'm positively glowing with the honor."

"Of course you are, Malfoy, the thought of you just sends me off into a wonderland of bliss," Blaise replied, stepping aside to let Draco through.

"How droll," Draco sighed, without any indication that he found it interesting, much less amusing.

Pansy, recovering from the initial shock of seeing the object of her affections after a long period of absence, launched herself towards his general direction, propelling herself with a long stream of high-pitched words.

"Oh, _Draco_, there you are!" She simpered, clinging onto his arm as though she was determined to snap it off and stow it away in her trunk. "Have you heard about the New Year's Celebration?"

"Of course I have," He sighed.

"How about accompanying me, then?" She smiled suggestively, as though _accompanying_ could mean many different things, and we could deduce on our own which one meaning she actually meant.

Draco cast a furtive glance at me – he wasn't asking, not even assessing if the thought of it bothered me. He seemed to be calculating, as though he were summing up the maximum amount of possibilities that I would not burst with jealousy at the thought of him going with Pansy Parkinson to the New Year's party.

Which, of course, is ludicrous. Why on earth would it bother me? It's not like I own him. We're not even dating. Hence, I don't see any reason in why he should even consider my explosion of raw envy.

By the way, mathematically speaking, the number is vastly approaching a value of nil.

He seemed to have realized that, which is why he replied, with the utmost boredom, "All right, then."

_All right, then_? Was it not clear on my very unhappy and sour expression that I would not stand for another bout of _let's tear down Blake Asher's hopes_? With as much venom as I could muster, I spat out a very sarcastic, "Well, isn't that absolutely _lovely_?"

All eyes swiveled to me – ice blue, dark brown and light gray – questioning.

"I'm sorry, what?" Pansy asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Oh, nothing," I snapped, now ignoring Draco's face completely. "_Do_ carry on with all this couple-y stuff, it's not like it makes me want to gag, or anything."

"Woah, Blake, someone's in a rotten mood," Blaise commented. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, just the unfortunate desire to empty my stomach of a regrettably lovely breakfast," I replied snippily. "But go and have your way, it's not like it's bothering me, or anything."

"I'm sorry, Asher," Draco drawled. "I think I might have missed the part in the conversation when we asked you for your opinion – oh, wait, that's quite right. No one did. So how about a round of shut the fuck up? Just because you possess little to no allure-"

"Excuse me?" I demanded, flaring up.

"Well it's obvious that you're jealous," He continued, as though this were an uninteresting fact and that he had no desire to take this into account – no matter that the reason behind my anger and jealousy was his blatant lack of concern for my feelings, despite the fact that he constantly toyed with them. "But please don't make the fact that you are a sad and lonely person an excuse for your behavior. Not everyone can be so lucky as to snag a date in the first round."

"You-" I shook a fist in his general direction, at a loss for words. "Well – it just so happens I've got myself a date anyway, so you can kiss my ass!"

"No, thank you," Draco raised an eyebrow. "Though I'm curious as to who will be the unlucky chap."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, deliberating stupidly. "It's… Well, it's Blaise, of course! Right, Blaise?"

Everyone now turned to Blaise, who was eyeing me with a questioning look. When he realized he was being addressed, he shrugged. "Well, all right, if you're so desperate, I guess. Though you shouldn't have sprung last minute, my date won't be pleased at all –"

"Your – your date?" I stuttered, not expecting this. Blaise had been with me pretty much all holiday. When did the bastard have time to ask anyone out? He was too busy forbidding me to fall in love with Draco Malfoy.

Then again there were times when I was too busy breaking his every rule, so.

"Yes, my date, the one I happen to be going to the New Year's do with. Problem?" He cocked a sharp eyebrow.

"What about –" I stopped myself from saying _me_. "What about Daphne?"

"Daphne who?" He sounded inappropriately uninterested. "Oh, Greengrass? We broke it off. Halfway through the holidays, really. She met some bloke off in Ireland, and frankly, I was getting kind of bored."

"That's… Actually that's not shocking at all," I said after quick consideration.

"So I'd love to take you, Blake, really, but you should have asked me sooner," Blaise reprimanded me cockily. "Just because we're friends and all doesn't mean that my time is more available to you. I'm a man on demand, if you don't already know."

"Oh, just shut up already," I snapped.

"Seems as though your plan has backfired, Asher," Draco smirked annoyingly. "Theodore Nott's looking pretty good, now, isn't he?"

"Theodore Nott?" I growled. "You honestly want to talk to me about _Theodore Nott?_"

"I'm sure that if you apologize to Nott he'll _probably_ take you back," He said, mock thoughtfully. "Although I'm sure it'll take more than just an apology to win back a person's goodness."

"Well!" I said, close to shouting. "I hope _you_ remember that for future reference, _Malfoy_!"

It was the first time I had rudely called him by his last name – something in his face registered shock.

"Also," I continued, my chest heaving and particularly beside myself. "You can bet your sorry ass that I'll find a date that'll cut you bitches to ribbons!"

I made to storm out, head held high and very indignant.

"Cut us to ribbons?" I heard Pansy Parkinson ask, baffled, as I walked out through the portrait hole.

"_Figuratively speaking_!" I called out, so that they could hear. With that, I slammed the portrait hole back into its place so hard that I all but cracked the stone walls.

Fuming, I stormed out of the cold corridors leading to the Slytherin Common Room and into the light of the higher levels. I could hear people chattering excitedly about the New Year's Party, which sent me deeper into my foul mood.

Oh, you can count on it, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to get a date that'll turn you green with envy, and you'll be sorry you ever flaunted your allure like the obnoxious flash bastard that you are.

Except, where do I find a date that'll push him off the edge?

I could ask Theodore Nott, but he'd probably be all snobby about it and give a great big smug rant about how he was too good for me and how it was only a matter of time that I'd come crawling back to him. Then the options for the answer would branch out into two – one would be him saying no, as a form of revenge on me, and besides, he probably had someone to go with (Alise, most probably) who was as flaccid on his arm as his dick was. The other more painful answer would be for him to say yes, out of the goodness of his black little heart, and because he thought it a kind gesture to calm down my desperate libido for him.

Ugh. Just thinking about it made me want to heave up my entire breakfast. And I knew he was arrogant enough to make me regret even considering asking him.

So, Theodore Nott is definitely out of the question.

I'd already asked Blaise, and it sounded as though he wasn't joking about having a date. Though that still baffled me – since when did Blaise just promptly ask a random girl to the ball right after he'd dumped his old girlfriend? I vaguely remembered being told that Blaise was a player; still, I thought it would have been a nice thing for him to do if he'd saved my butt and caught on to the fact that I was trying to upstage Draco Malfoy's arrogance by asking him out. The least he could have done was to have looked a little more remorseful at the thought of letting me down, which is exactly what he had done.

I grimaced at a portrait of a portly man drinking his woes away in a poorly lit tavern.

"Rough day, darlin'?" He hiccupped, brandishing his beer bottle drunkenly.

"In a nutshell," I muttered. He nodded sagely, although it seemed as though his head would snap off the stem of his neck if he had put it down and back up again a couple more times.

"Methinks the best way to – er, get rid of those nasty little problems is a bit of sol – er, sol – soliloquitude and a bottle of some good ol' firewhiskey. Washes all the buggers away, it does," He mumbled, then took another swig from the bottle.

"Yes, and burns away only about half of your insides in a go," I replied bitterly.

"Yes, indeed. Your insides," He lapsed into silence, only pausing for the occasional hiccup and grunt.

I stalked away, farther from the common room, and absently climbed up the stairs into the entrance hall. The crowd was thinning, and I could hear clearer streams of conversation floating about the halls.

"- absolutely _hideous_, I've really nothing to wear for tomorrow night…"

"Ugh, well at least that's all you have to worry about, I haven't even gotten a date-"

"… Asked Harry Potter to the ball, but that floozy Granger girl is always all over him like a sick little puppy-"

" – is entitled to go with Lavender Brown to the New Year's do, it's only proper since they've been snogging so much; I'm surprised they haven't sucked the life out of each other yet-"

It was the voice of Hermione Granger, with a cutting edge to her tone that clashed with my sweet albeit know-it-all impression of her. I spotted her walking out of the Great Hall with Harry Potter, who still had a half-bitten piece of toast in his grasp. He was in the act of shrugging wordlessly, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing it with an absent expression on his face.

"Have you asked Ginny, then?" Hermione asked. "Or are you even planning to?"

"Well, if I'd asked Ginny, I would have told you, wouldn't I have, Hermione?" Harry said tiredly. "Besides, you know how touchy Ron is with his sister and her dating people-"

"Yes, but that's only around Michael Corner and Dean and – well, it's different, isn't it? It's you, you're his best friend-"

"All the more reason for him to kill me, don't you see?" He groaned.

Ah, so it seems as though Harry Potter _still_ had no luck in the romance department. It was also safe to assume he still had not snagged a date for the –

_Harry Potter still does not have a date for the New Year's Ball_.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

It was an embarrassingly loud burst of voice, but it did the trick – he and Hermione Granger stopped in their tracks, looking surprised. So did everyone else in the entrance hall.

I crossed the landing, approaching Harry Potter, who looked slightly perplexed. Hermione had a weak smile on her face, greeting me a little hesitantly. "Hello, Blake."

"Hey, Hermione Granger. Harry Potter, can I – hold on," I said, noticing something was off. "Where's Carrot-Top Ron?"

I thought I might garner a couple of smiles with this rather intelligently inside-joke-ish quip, but Hermione Granger's expression hardened like cement, and she said, in a very clipped voice, "I think I'll be off to the library, then. I'll see you later, Harry. Nice talking, Blake."

She spun on her heel and stormed away, looking positively livid.

"Was it something I said?" I frowned.

"Ron's a bit of a touchy subject for her right now," Harry replied uncomfortably. "She'll be all right. They always fight anyway."

"Oh, well, could you tell her I'm sorry, in any case?"

"Sure. So, erm, what's this about, Blake?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, well," I reddened. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Hermione, and from what I've gathered, you haven't gotten a date for the New Year's ball."

"No, I haven't," He admitted. "Why? I suppose you'll be going with Theodore Nott, then?"

"What?" I actually choked on my saliva. "Ew. No. Never."

"Blaise Zabini?" He tried again. "I notice you two are growing increasingly closer."

"Oh, no, Blaise has got himself a date." I answered bitterly.

"Then, Draco Malfoy?"

"I haven't got myself a date yet either," I replied, pointedly avoiding the last name. "And I was wondering-"

"If I would go with you?" He looked puzzled.

"Well it would have been nice if you'd just let me finished, but essentially, yes," I grew steadily warmer in the face, until I was sure I would explode.

"But," He blinked rapidly. "Well – it's a little inappropriate, isn't it?"

"How?"

"Well, you're a Slytherin, I'm a Gryffindor," He pointed out. "Your friends will be absolutely furious."

"I don't give a rat's ass what my friends think anymore," I snapped, a little bothered by this. A ghost of a smile passed his face.

"Well, as long as you're sure, then all right. It's not like I've got anything better to do anyway." He chuckled.

"Well, thanks," I rolled my eyes, but cracked a small smile as well.

"I'll see you, Blake." He waved, then began to walk away.

"Hey, Potter!" I called, and he stopped, turning around with a mystified expression on his face. "Be at the Slytherin Common Room's entrance by eight tomorrow or you're screwed."

"Yes, all right, Asher, don't nag me," He snorted. "See you, then!"

I watched Harry Potter walk away with a massive sense of satisfaction. I did not only get a date that would piss Draco Malfoy off – it was the pinnacle of all his hatred in the entire student body that I'd have with me during the New Year's Ball.

Well, you can kiss my ass, flash bastard.

* * *

"So who _have_ you got for a date, Blake?" Astoria pressed, looking like she was about to pee her pants with excitement. I stared hard at her reflection in the mirror, where she was watching with a painfully curious expression on her face.

"It's really a surprise, besides, I couldn't tell you if I tried," I smiled vaguely. Who knows what kind of commotion me going with Harry Potter would cause in the common room? I didn't fancy getting tossed out the window.

"Try hard," She urged.

"Really, you'll just know when you see him," I replied, and that was all there was to it.

At this moment, Pansy emerged from the bathroom, wearing a glittery number that was sure to give someone a nasty glaring once it hit improper light. Still, she looked uncannily pleased with herself, and we clapped at her do, even though some did it more reluctantly than others.

"You look dashing, Pansy," Astoria said, though her voice sounded a little choked.

"Yes, lovely," I added, thought I had to stop myself from giggling.

"Oh stop it," She said modestly, crossing over to the mirror and looking at herself from different angles. "Though I _do_ look good, don't I?"

"Yes, Draco won't be able to keep his hands off you," Astoria smirked. My face in the mirror hardened by a fraction, and Astoria asked, "Blake, are you all right?"

"Yes, fine!" I said, a little too cheerfully. "Oh, it's eight – I should be meeting my date…"

I stood, smiling at people who said they'd see me later. On my way out, I heard someone at the far end of the dormitories say to another girl beside her, "Have any of you lot seen Alise?"

"Yeah, she's been hiding out in the girl's bathroom on the sixth floor – really bummed out when Theodore Nott dumped her-"

"She had it coming, she's not even pretty enough to date Theodore Nott." Another girl scoffed. Oh, Theodore Nott had dumped that childish fifth year girl? Well, good for him. I mean her. Actually, it's none of my business, but the news was intriguing.

"Well, yeah, but he might've let her off a bit gently."

"From what I hear he's taking his new girlfriend to the ball-"

"I wonder what she looks like – hope it's someone who's a far better sight that that troll he says he used to be with. She was a horrid girl, from what I know-"

"Yeah, cheap little tramp s'what I heard," the girl replied condescendingly. "Gave Theodore Nott a bit of a headache, really, but he won't say who she is-"

"I hear she's a Slytherin though – he said something about having to shake her off, she was so obsessed with him…"

"Well, who wouldn't be?"

Cheap little _what_? As if he wasn't such a manwhore, really!

Incensed, I stomped out of the dormitory, ignoring one of the other girls who'd wondered, "What's going on with her, then?"

The common room was empty – the party started at eight thirty at the Great Hall. Everyone was doing last minute preparations, and I used this as an opportunity to slip out of the common room, into the hall. A figure standing patiently in the dark confirmed Harry Potter's presence.

"Oh, sorry, have you been waiting long?" I asked, the portrait swinging close behind me.

"A bit," Harry Potter admitted. "But not a lot of people have seen me, so it's all right. I've just gone around telling them I'm off to do a bit more Chosen One business."

He let out a hollow laugh that made me a little bit uncomfortable.

"Oh, well, does anyone know you've gone with me to the New Year's ball?" I wondered.

"Just Ron and Hermione," He replied casually. "Anyone from your lot know?"

"No, I've saved it as a surprise," I replied embarrassedly. "Also because I'd rather not be completely exiled."

"That's very sensible of you, Blake," He smiled weakly. "Shall we go, then? Prepare a bit for the shock of everyone's lives?"

"Oh, yes," I smiled. "Preparing would be good."

We walked away from the common room in a heavy silence, the soles of our feet clicking against the stone floor.

"You look nice, Blake," Harry Potter commented after a while. I turned my head and gave him a very improperly perplexed look.

"Well, thanks," I replied, flattered. "You look very handsome, Harry Potter. Nice, um, dress robes."

"Oh, these?" He looked down at his robes, dangling a few inches off the ground. "Oh, yeah. Bought these for the Yule Ball."

"The what?"

"In my fourth year – I competed in the Triwizard Tournament, and, well, there was a ball, and I had to dance-"

"Oh, dancing," I smirked. "I would love to see you dance."

"Oh, I'm a jolly good one," He chortled. "You'd have to keep up. Anyway, these dress robes aren't the best, but they're a damn sight better than Ron's."

"Why, what's wrong with Carrot-Top's?" I wondered, interested.

"I'll let you discover it on your own, if I tell you it'll ruin all the fun," He grinned. "Though I've to warn you – he's a bit touchy with you, Blake."

"Why's that?" Not that I hadn't gotten the _I hate you, please die_ vibe from the perpetually angry ginger.

"Because you're a Slytherin," he said, like that explained everything. And it kind of did. "Ron's constantly under the impression that all the Slytherins turn out Death Eaters. Or, in any case, they're always on Voldemort's side."

Ah, Voldemort. The sadly named antagonist with no hair and an underpaid mobster gang.

"Well, do you think so?" I asked. "I mean, I probably won't-"

"Then you're probably the only one, really. Besides, Ron's got the right idea," Harry shrugged. "Frankly with people like Malfoy and Nott-"

"What's with Malfoy?" I asked.

"Well, Draco's family have got a bit of a dark lineage, you see. His dad was a big-time Death Eater, even though he denied it. I mean, he's in Azkaban now, so it gives them all a bad name. And they're all related, the death eaters, because they're purebloods. Like the Malfoys, and the Lestranges."

_Le Stranges_? Are you fucking kidding me? That is so painfully uncreative.

"When I first came, everyone asked me if I was a pureblood," I remembered, frowning. Harry Potter nodded.

"That's all they care about, the Slytherins – and, by extension, of course, Voldemort, who was a Slytherin," He frowned. "What they want to do is wipe out everyone who's not a pureblood. Abomination to magical lineage, is what they believe."

"How do you know if you're a pureblood?" I asked.

"You don't," He replied simply. "Unless you're aware that your parents are both pureblooded. Which, I'm guessing, you're not," He said after seeing my sour expression.

"That's the only reason they've accepted me. Because they think I am," I admitted in an undertone. "pureblooded, that is."

"Sometimes I do wonder if the Sorting Hat's gone barmy, putting you in Slytherin," Harry replied quietly. "If you had been a Gryffindor, maybe…"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe we wouldn't have to surprise everyone, having a Slytherin and a Gryffindor go to a silly old ball together," He chuckled.

"Oh. Yeah," I laughed weakly.

We arrived at the Great Hall, and I gasped at what they had done. Usually only a common eating place for students, they had gone overboard with the sparkling bells hanging off the walls, the streamers of gold and silver hanging above our heads, and the quaint ice sculptures that were scattered around the hall. A chilly breeze blew by, determined to keep the temperature pleasant while body heat piled in.

Harry Potter led me across the hall, towards a table in the corner where I saw a familiar mane of flashy red-orange peeking out. We approached Harry Potter's friends, and I noticed both Carrot-Top and Hermione Granger were pointedly ignoring each other, chatting a forcedly animated conversation with each of their dates. A large gap of chairs separated them from each other – it was as though they were in completely different universes. Hermione Granger was struggling with an evidently idiotic dialogue being held with a tall boy I'd never encountered before. She looked up as we arrived, looking suspiciously relieved.

"Harry, good, you're here. And Blake, you're looking absolutely lovely," She added breathily, and I noticed she looked a little pale.

"Thank you, you look stunning," And this time I meant it genuinely. She offered me a smile; Her date cleared his throat, obviously trying to attract her attention, which had slipped away at Harry Potter's arrival. "Oh, yes. Blake, you know Cormac McLaggen? He's in Gryffindor too."

"No," I said honestly.

"Aren't you Blaise Zabini's girlfriend?" Cormac McLaggen asked tactlessly.

"No," I repeated, now a little affronted.

"You're – You're a Slytherin, though, aren't you?" He cast Harry Potter a questioning, somewhat accusing look.

"Yes, I am," I cocked an eyebrow. "I don't see why this should bother you. I hardly know you."

"Yes, but, Harry – A Slytherin? Really?" He asked skeptically. "This is a practical joke, isn't it?"

"Actually, Cormac-" Harry Potter began, but I interrupted.

"Actually, _Cormac_," I spat his name out like venom. "I hope you don't mind me telling you, but if I want to take Harry Potter to the ball, I will, and there is nothing you can do about it. And if I want to take Harry Potter to ten million balls, I will do so. If I want to strap Harry Potter to a chair and electrocute him, I will. If I want to make passionate love with Harry Potter tonight, I assure you, I will. And that is none of your fucking business."

Concluding my speech, I promptly turned to Harry Potter and said, "Do you have a problem with this?"

"No," He said hastily. "Although I'm not sure about that last condition-"

"Then the subject is closed. Thanks for all your concern, Cormac McLaggen."

I stormed up to a chair right beside Carrot-Top Ron, who eyed me with a bit of incredulity and something that looked like reluctant admiration. Fuming, I said, "Is this seat taken?"

"No," He replied, still sounding surprised. Gracelessly, I sat down, and Harry Potter followed suit, a sort of appraising look on his face.

"Reckon you'll be on better terms with Ron now," He whispered, as the two couples lapsed into another round of conversations.

"Why?" I asked, still a little angry.

"Well, Ron hates Cormac," Harry explained. "Because they vied for the Keeper position on the team, and because Cormac fancies Hermione."

"Ron fancies Hermione?" I suddenly forgot my anger.

"Well, yeah, but he's the only one who doesn't know it," Harry chuckled.

"Numbskull." I commented, watching him converse with his girlfriend, though he occasionally threw surreptitious smug looks at Cormac McLaggen, who was absolutely red with embarrassment.

* * *

To say that people were shocked that Harry Potter had gone to the New Year's Ball with a Slytherin would be an understatement. I think nearly anyone who saw us together had something along the lines of a sever aneurism. One girl, who Hermione Granger pointed out as someone named Romilda Vane, actually had a brief fainting spell into her date's arms. Apparently she'd tried to smuggle Harry Potter a love potion earlier this year, but that plan had gone bad. Carrot-Top Ron didn't like discussing it either.

Though not everyone had massively violent reactions of sobbing and passing out, it was safe to say that nearly everyone stared shamelessly – I couldn't remember a moment in that God-awful ball when I wasn't being ogled at like I was prancing around naked in the pouring rain. Harry Potter looked uncomfortable to a fault, constantly apologizing for all the attention. I regularly assured him that it didn't bother me – still, I was sure I'd have nightmares about the whites of people's eyes when the night ended.

Still, the plan was working extremely well – people were whispering about the audacity of it all, and word of mouth travelled at lightning speed here. Surely the gossip that I'd gone to the ball with Harry Potter would reach the Slytherin Triumvirate quite well in time. The assumption of this was confirmed when I had asked Harry if I could go pay my _friends_ a nice visit at their table.

"You want to go see your friends? _Now_?" Harry Potter asked, perplexed.

"Oh, yes," I smiled. "I haven't seen them all night. Would be rude to completely ignore them."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but all your friends want to _kill_ me," He frowned.

"No, of course they don't!" Just seriously injure, maim or possibly send into a deep coma.

"I don't know, Blake," He groaned, but allowed me to drag him to the table where my fellow Slytherins were situated, looking like a bunch of porcelain dolls circled around their table. Everyone looked up when we approached, and every face hardened as I grinned cheekily at them.

"Having a good night, everyone?" I asked, beaming so big that I was sure I'd kill them all with my cheerfulness.

"Blake," Blaise said slowly, his voice spectacularly controlled. "What… are you doing?"

"Just visiting the friends I hadn't seen all night. Hello!" I said, noticing Blaise's date. "What's your name?"

The girl looked up at me with wide dark blue eyes. She pushed her black bangs away from her pale face. I couldn't help but notice she seemed like Blaise's female counterpart. "Vivian. Aren't you Blake Asher?"

"Yes, I am," I shot a happily questioning look to Blaise, who rolled his eyes. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, Blaise told me about you," She replied quietly. "He said something about you causing him a lot of trouble. But you don't really seem the type."

"Oh, well thank you!" I smirked at Blaise, adding to him in an undertone, "Oh Blaise, don't ever let her go."

"What on _earth_ are you going on about, Asher?" He snapped.

"She's not really your type is she? I like her very much."

"I don't see why that would concern you. We're not dating. We're just here."

"On a date," I pointed out.

"I assure you we will part ways with our intimacies intact," He raised an eyebrow. I snorted. Vivian just smiled softly at us, not contributing at all to the conversation.

"And Theodore, I see you've got yourself a new girlfriend!" I added, eyeing the girl beside him. She was, in every way, a polar opposite to Alise Chenoweth. She was tall, perhaps as tall as Theodore himself, and a muscular build that assumed athleticism. "What happened to Alise?"

"Alise?" The girl demanded. "Who's Alise? _Theodore_?"

"Oh, nobody. Don't you fret, Julia dear," He assured her, though the look he shot me was absolutely murderous. I plastered a curiously satisfied look on my face, and turned to face the last happy couple. Pansy's face was twisted into something like confusion and massive shock. Draco Malfoy's face was molded into pure rage.

"You two look absolutely lovely," I complimented them, sickeningly sweet. "Don't you think so, Harry?"

"What? Oh – er, yeah, I guess," He frowned, like he was having a hard time coughing up the words. To me, he hissed, "Can we go, Blake? I think Zabini's trying to hex me."

"Well, see you all later!" I grinned brightly, then spun on my heel, grasped the sleeve of Harry's dress robes, and dragged him away from the now livid table. "Oh, God, did you see the looks on their faces? I will never forget this day for the rest of my natural life."

"I'm starting to think that you have some sort of ulterior motive for asking me to the ball, Blake Asher," He wagged a playfully accusing finger at my face.

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"If I had one guess, I'd toss up the theory that you're trying to piss all your friends off, using me."

"In a simplified nutshell, yes."

"Not that I have any qualms with this, but why?"

"Because all assholes deserve a good kick up their gluteus muscles every now and then," I replied simply. He laughed. "Except I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought you might not notice. It's a bit rude of me to use you like this, Harry Potter. Sorry."

"Oh, no it's fine," He chuckled. "For a moment you had me worried that you'd fallen hopelessly in love with me and force me to have – what was it? Passionate love making with you?"

"Oh please," I said absently. "I wouldn't have to force you."

"Fair enough. Care to dance? I've to warn you though, I'm a bit of a flashy dancer, you'd have to be quick to keep up." He grinned.

"I think I can manage whatever glitz and glamor you throw, Harry Potter," I snorted.

"Regardless, I've always got a few tricks up my sleeve. Shall we?" He extended a palm towards me, and I almost took it – almost, as Draco Malfoy appeared out of thin air at that particular moment, cutting me off and smacking Harry Potter's hand away.

"Watch it, Potter," He snarled.

"Bit rude of you to come in between me and my date, Malfoy," Harry spat.

"I'm sure you can find some other Gryffindor tramp that's obsessed with the Chosen One to have a dance with," Draco said coldly. "I'd like to talk to Blake Asher."

"Well, perhaps Blake Asher doesn't want to talk to you," Harry replied.

"I doubt it. Asher, outside."

"You're not the boss of me," I rolled my eyes. "I was going to have a dance with Harry Potter – if you'll excuse me…"

I made to elbow past Draco, but he gripped my shoulder so tight I actually let out a little squeak of pain.

"No. Outside. Now."

I stared defiantly at his face, but something about his eyes translated possible murder. Not wanting to create a scene, I excused myself reluctantly from Harry Potter and stormed outside the Great Hall, into the chilly and dimly lit entrance hall. Draco Malfoy followed soon after, looking around to make sure we were alone.

"What the actual _fuck_ is your problem?" I burst out angrily. "You are such a fucking asshole, fucking bastard!"

He raised a thin eyebrow challengingly. "Sorry? I found that crassly inarticulate."

"Do you _always_ have to ruin my day? Like, for once, could you just get off my back?"

"I vaguely recall that _you_ were the one who approached the table and flaunted your bastard of a date." He snapped.

"All I wanted to do was say hi, like that's illegal now-"

"No, you weren't," He cut me off angrily. "You were trying to get on my nerves. Well, congratulations, it seems as though it's worked. Thank you for going through all that trouble."

"Not everything is about you!" I jabbed a finger into his chest, a little part of my anger fueled by the fact that he'd got the point in one go. "You just can't believe that I could be friends with Harry Potter, that I'll always follow you around like a sick little child-"

"Why don't you just tell me why you _had_ to ask Saint Potter?"

"Why don't you just tell me why you _had_ to agree to Pansy Parkinson?"

"Ah, so this _is_ about me," He concluded.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, just fuck you, okay? Damn it!" I cried, frustrated. "What do you want me to do? What is it going to take to just get you to care about me?"

"I care that you're making yourself look like a total idiot," He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yes, of course! Well, if you don't mind, I'll just go set up an idiot's club with Harry Potter, my _date_, so if you don't mind, I'll be going in and having a good time _without you_!"

Stomping away, completely enraged, I flung my middle finger up into the air, making sure he caught it. I nearly entered the fray of the Great Hall again, but he stopped me, sliding himself in between me and the doors.

"Move it," I snapped.

"Blake," He said, a mysterious tone creeping into his voice. Damn it. Why did he have to use my first name? It always caught me off guard. "Stop hanging around Harry Potter."

"Why? I'm sure your hatred for him will cover up for my stain on your pureblood Slytherin reputation, or whatever it is you bastards care about-"

"Not for them. Do it for me."

"What?" I blinked, surprised.

"I'm not asking you to do it for the Slytherins," He repeated. "I'm asking you to do it for me. Stop hanging around Harry Potter."

"What makes you think I'd do anything for you?" I spat.

"I know you did this to make me jealous, all right?" He retorted. "And – well, it's bothering me, all right? Stop trying so hard."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Just – will you just do it?" He said impatiently. My expression hardened again.

"No. Goodbye."

I made to walk again, but he blocked my way.

"Blake." His voice was quiet now. "Just – don't. All right?"

"No, not all right!" I said defiantly.

"Please," The word was so foreign that I had to blink rapidly to believe it. "Don't. It – it bothers me, all right?"

"Why should it?" I asked, more curious now than angry.

"Because it bothers me," He said with a large struggle. "Because… Because I care. Are you happy now?"

"I'm not beaming, but… I guess that does count for something," I said slowly.

"Good. Now you'll promptly excuse yourself from your obnoxious date and we will return to the Common Room." He ordered, returning to his state of arrogance.

"What?" I grimaced. "Why?"

"Because I said so. Is that not a sufficient enough reason?"

"Not really," I rolled my eyes. "But fine. Just remember next time that maybe you should stop trying to treat me like I'm just a passing hobby."

"I'll take that into consideration."

Inside, the crowd of students had begun counting down for the new year. I vaguely wondered if Harry Potter had worried for me – probably not, as I imagined he would have found Carrot-Top's sister and promptly forgotten me entirely. This, I hardly blamed him for.

We waited as the chanting of decreasing numbers grew steadily louder, until they reached the final one, and everyone cheered a booming _Happy New Year_! Loud bangs from what I imagined was bewitched confetti were heard over the happy screams.

"Well, happy new year," I sighed. "Here's to hoping it'll be better than the crappy one last year."

"Given your luck? I hardly think so."

"Yeah, well," I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the support and all that. I'll just be going in to bid a happy new year to my poor, abandoned date-"

"Blake," He said, to shut me up. "Just be quiet. You're a talking headache."

"Three." I said, after a moment's pause.

"What?" He asked absently.

"That was the third time in a row you called me by my first name," I said lamely. "I was… counting."

"That _is_ your name, isn't it?" He smirked.

"Yeah, okay, okay. Could you move, then?" I said tiredly.

"You could be more gracious about it, but all right." But he did not move, just stared at me with a very curious expression.

"What?" I snapped, unnerved.

"Don't be snippy," He retorted. "I was trying to figure out when this conversation would end so I could just kiss you and get it over with."

"Oh," I felt derailed, at a loss for words. "I see."

"You do look good," He admitted, his voice soft. "It's shocking. A good kind of shocking."

"Well, thanks," I vaguely registered this was a bit of an insult, but I let it go. He had taken to moving closer, and this distracted me greatly.

"Just promise me you'll never make me jealous with Harry Potter again," He murmured. "That was below the belt."

"Fine," I mumbled, as he leaned in. My eyes fluttered close, his breath light on my lips.

"Happy New Year, Asher," He purred. "Perhaps one day you'll own my heart as completely as I own yours."

"Just shut up," I whispered, my breath almost out with anticipation. "Shut up and kiss me already."

I felt the ghost of a smirk against my lips as we met.

* * *

**Hey all! To make up for my bad absence, here's your update, that's twice the length!  
**

**Also, I'd just like to let you know that the entire sequel is planned out. Also a part of the sequel to the sequel, essentially making this a trilogy. I'm excited, and I hope you are too! **

**I thank you all again for your patience, and apologize for the delay. I hope to update sooner than I had previously done so. **

**I hope you'll all take the time to review! **

**All the best,**

**Aimee **


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